Snowforest Taiga dax

Without Redd, they would have withered away into nothingness. They trusted nobody but her, and it felt as though that would never change. Who else was there to trust? Ruckus watched her hunt (as well as they could), their sinewy muscles tensing at the same moment hers did when she went for each small kill. Everything she did, they observed and copied to the best of their ability. They ate when she ate, drank when she drank, and slept when she slept. Redd became their world.

They noted the way she gave them the larger pieces of some kills. On some level, they knew that their body wished to grow. If Redd wished it, they would heed her command. They tore at the squirrel, rich organ meat and blood—the best parts—flooding their mouth. They did not find particular pleasure in eating, but it was something that allowed them to continue life with Redd. Bits of bone and skin began to mix in with the rest, and when they were finished, only the bushy tail of the creature remained. It held very little in the way of nutrition, and they were not a sentimental being, so they left it where it lay.

Their belly was not so much full as it was momentarily quelled of hunger. Hunger was the norm, and this vaguely content sensation never felt quite right. They licked the last remnants of blood and muscle from their lips, then looked with blurred vision to Redd for their next move.