Qeya River [m] ghosts

blackfell had already been on his way, a plump hare dangling limp from his jaws. long legs carried him with hefty strides, crimson eyes floating about the treeline where her den lay.

she was emerging from the mouth of her den when he first saw her, looking the picture perfect stormcloud that she often was. a familiar sight; one he was used to in her, by now. she was quite a brooding woman.

he closed the distance, coming up behind her right flank where he brushes nose against her raven fur. the reaction was instant. she stiffened, and he could almost feel her hackles rise. a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled back, sharp enough to avoid any snapping teeth. he liked her fire; he’d always liked it.

then, he shoved the hare against her shoulder, speaking through clenched teeth.

breakfast.