Fox's Glade [m] biology, i am an organism, i'm chemical

Of all the people Wren had anticipated following her, the dead last of her guesses was a child. Small and scrappy, a demanding little high-pitched voice scratches at the base of her eardrums. 
Her head whips around, squinting her eyes suspiciously as the fur of her neck prickles. Who the fuck was this kid? Where were her parents? Her nostrils flare as she liberally searches for an answer via scent, until she realizes. 
This is a Creek child. Akavir's, if she had to guess. 
An exhausted groan comes from cracked lips, head now buried between her two forepaws. Go away, kid, was her reply, and although she had meant for it to come out sharp, the blow landed softly. I'm not sick, and it's none of your fuckin' business why I'm out here. 
She adjusts herself to get a better look at the whelp, peeking from a sliver of light between her paw and the ground. She has Akavir's face. And his nosiness. 
Won't your dad be upset with you if he finds out you're this far away all alone?