Herbalists' Cache with my eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

Eshe agreed with the plan, quickly disembarking to begin her hunt. Masquerade watched her go, tipping their snout a little when she turned back and thanked them. Their ears then splayed as they considered which direction to head, ultimately deciding to follow a straight line in the opposite direction.

They moved like a ghost through the unassuming forest, the tip of their long tail twitching as they sifted for signs of small game. There was so much undergrowth here, it was hard to discern a fresh scent trail. Masque nosed past countless berry patches and clusters of mushrooms, wondering if squirrels fed on them or stuck to acorns.

When Masquerade finally came across something worthwhile, it couldn’t have been more different than the sweet-cheeked, bushy-tailed rodent they sought. Their marigold eyes trailed along a long, naked tail to a disheveled salt and pepper pelt. The critter turned to look at them from their perch atop a mossy log, beady eyes peering from a ratlike face. Its long snout parted to reveal sharp teeth.

The opossum was rather ugly and it was no squirrel. But the young wolf lunged at it, catching it by its tail as it scurried toward a small hole in the top of the log. It yanked free at the cost of about an inch of said appendage, vanishing inside the dead tree. Masque thrust their snout into the hole, then sprang to the side, looking for a proper entrance into the deadwood.

It was small, though the yearling squeezed into it and snapped their jaws at the opossum huddled just out of reach. When it froze and pretended to be dead, it did not deter the hunter. Masquerade shoved further into the log, scraping their whole body in the process, but eventually managed to get their teeth on the creature and drag it, screaming, into the open.

It landed a couple solid bites on the way but as soon as Masque could manage it, they found the opossum’s hideous face and wrapped their jaws around it, crushing it into oblivion.