Blackfoot Forest subatomic penetration, rapid fire through your skull

Lane thought the kid seemed a little young to be out hunting on his own, but far be it from the half-grown yearling to judge anyone's parenting. His folks were probably very important people who were very busy doing very important things.

Or... maybe Lane was projecting? Two months and counting, and she doubted her parents had even noticed she was gone.

“The pine marten?” Lane asked, rising to her feet. She had been stalking the little morsel since daybreak, which came hella early when you were sleeping on the side of an east-facing cliff. There was a mournful note evident in her tone; if the kid wanted to take over her marten-hunt, she would have to give it up. If she told him to get lost, he would probably go tattle to his pack. Last thing Lane needed was for someone to come looking to teach a lesson to the Blackfoot Forest Bully.