Rising Sun Valley Dread Hunger

Pesky.

Out of every bitter word he could scrounge up in his mind, he found himself settling for pesky. He'd been running after hare scent for minutes. A gross slip into the muds and snowfall left him cold and famished. That hare ran itself away from him, and in a humiliated, annoyed fuss, he'd stayed still after his little fall. Run did he let that hare, and run it did. 

He couldn't find much reason to hold value over where he'd traveled yet. Couldn't find much reason not to move on from this hare either. 

Yet despite that, he found his fur whipping through the wind at alarming rates with a nasty, chilly scowl across his face while he beat his paws one, two, three, hundreds of times across the snow. He wanted to kill it. It was the only thing he could think of. It ate at his mind- second after second, he found himself more aggravated by the fact that he'd let it go, and he would make sure he found it again. He would find it all right. Bonnie would find it, and he would kill it. Kill it. 

Finding it wasn't the hard part. In fact, he found it after thirty or so minutes. Copious amounts of scents were flooding his nose, one after another, and really, he only cared about one of them. It'd taken some time, but eventually, he found that hare.

Guarded.

Guarded by a slobbering, skinny mutt.

Hackles raised, exposed teeth, he found himself bristling up like an all too excited porcupine. There had not been a second he slowed down, if that's what one thought he'd do. Nope. Not at all. In fact, he might have sped up, because in a moments notice, the brown devil who stole HIS kill was now missing a dinner. He'd snatched it straight from in front of her, or at least got ahold of it. If she didn't snatch onto it, he would bound off with it and keep it for his OWN self to gobble down. If she did, if she dared to, it'd be an all too tossing match of tug-of-war.