Sun Mote Copse but you're holding me like water in your hands

One thing Wren was growing increasingly aware of was that the song and dance of physical intimacy left behind an achingly dark feeling. Cold, lonely, and unforgiving, climbing up her spine and implanting itself in the back of her mind. The desire had burned so bright and taken so much from her that she had little more left to give. 
She and Colt had not an emotional connection. She wanted nothing more from him, in that moment. Their transaction was complete, until the tension thickened between them once more and they were no longer caught in the satisfactory haze. On quivering legs she rises, wobbling and unsteady, slowly padding towards the edge of the copse. Her teeth itch for pressure, for the hot blood of a creature smaller than her to drip down to her chin. Surely, that would fix it.


There's a snap of a twig and a crunch of bones as four thunderous paws meet the earth. All was silent otherwise. The unsuspecting mockingbird lodged between Wren's teeth had met a quiet, quick end. A huff leaves her nostrils, a pat on her own back for a successful, albeit small hunt. Small birds were mostly bones, but with shaky legs and breath that was still catching up to her, it was all she could muster. Colt didn't seem the type to complain, anyway. 
G'ho ah p'esen' pf'o y'hah, She's careful to place the carcass next to his nose as she comes down to a sit. Sorry it's not much.