The Heartwood do well; do good

He kinked his paw in a wave before bounding deeper into the woods, determined to rustle up some grub for Rose. But as an hour passed, then two, Caracal could scarcely find any fresh scent trails. He was about to give up and return empty-handed, already dreading Rose’s inevitable disappointment, when he came across a stream and discovered an entire dead doe floating in the icy water.

He approached the bloated corpse, wondering how on earth she’d died here. But he didn’t dwell on it long. Caracal latched onto her nearest leg and tugged her carcass halfway out of the water, then fell upon the waterlogged flesh where her limb attached to her torso. In moments, he had detached it.

Picking up his prize, he galloped haphazardly toward the area where he’d left Rose. But she wasn’t there. Caracal spun in a circle, the disembodied leg nearly snagging in a bush. He thought he might be in the wrong place, but when he looked down, he could see their paw prints in the snow.

Apparently she hadn’t waited. He shrugged to himself and began loping eastward, headed back in the direction of the mountains and Emberwood on the far side. Maybe Killdeer would accept this hunk of meat as an apology for ditching him earlier.