Black Morass White leaves of an oleander

She set off as she was asked, erratic in her movement, but unmistakeably light on each quick step of her feet. Moles, voles, she could scarce remember the difference between them, beyond which syllable preceeded the 'ole'.

Not like plants, where the smallest of differences stuck clear in her mind, scent, shape, season. Nasty habit of hers, disinterest in most other things, it was no wonder she hunted like something rabid more than something practiced.

She looked for small holes in the snow, eyes straining against the blinding white made brighter by the early morning sun. When she found one, she had little patience to spare for it; as soon as her ears caught the light scuffle of movement, she began to dig.

From the ruins of vole tunnel civilization, Envy returned successful, a squealing rodent clutched between teeth, if this bloody thing bit her lip even once... Patience, says Ione, and Envy intends to have it.

But... for insurance, she gives a vigorous shake of her head, discombobulating the little fucker, for a few minutes, so he doesn't sprint the second she drops him. She makes her way back, a giddy sway to her tail while she returns. Hesitant to release it yet, she speaks around the stirring vole in her jaws, a muffle to her words Got 'im. What do you want me to do with him? She looks around the room, eyes lingering on the supplies strewn about.