Bearclaw Valley the sleeper

*shakes fist at dice*

she watches with hope, at first—hope that quickly gives way to disappointment once more. for he skids on the leaves, and the squirrel makes its getaway. she's running before he gathers himself again, nose aimed directly at the fleeing rodent. but she will not snare it today, either. it escapes with its life.

Avicus pulls to a halt with a huff, and throws her head around to stare at Ashlar, who looks even more dejected. a more caring, intuitive wolf would comfort him, try to cheer him up.

she's not that wolf, though. instead, she gives him a parting blink and turns to where she'd buried her first kill, digging with a quiet intensity. she grabs it and trots off like a thief in the night, spindly limbs carrying her swiftly over the chilly ground. 

she won't eat it in front of him. that would mean she'd have to fight for it—or, at least, that would be how it would work with a similarly food-aggressive being.

she has had all the luck, today, and will take her lunch in solitude.