The fella over there with the hella good hair

@Viggo or @Andrus maybe?

An ermine fled from behind a shrub as Ptarmigan drew near, but the Alpha female was too sore to give chase. She would be slow on her feet for some time to come. It was a poor time for it, for truly she should have been asserting her new claim over the Spine pack with vigour now that they knew their former queen had been murdered and her replacement dethroned, but she was unable. Any one of them could bring tooth to her hide, and she would be helpless... Except for her friends.

Viggo and Andrus had been consumed with their own duties in the time between Ptarmigan's challenge and her healing enough to walk around actively. What exactly they had been doing, the Endore could not have known, but part of her simply didn't care. They were keeping busy and that was what mattered.

The Endore sat down heavily next to the abandoned shrub, staring off after the ermine with an irritated tweak of her brow. “Dumb bitch,” she voiced aloud, referring to Cara. Never before had Ptarmigan seen blood drawn in a rank dispute, but the pale woman had gone for her chest and neck over and over, leaving welts and slashes wherever she went. It was a wonder Ptarmigan had held on in that battle long enough to best the white female's pride—by all rights, she should have collapsed. It was shameful, she thought.

Now, each wound was a puckered scab, and any strenuous activity could cause them to break open and bleed anew, rendering Ptarmigan unable to do more than pace the valley and wait for better days.