Ravensblood Forest salt fires

He carried a squirrel today, the creature swinging limply in his jaws as he padded toward the place where they kept their captives. Saw the glint of her eyes in the dim light of the dens and solemnly dropped his head, pushing the prey toward her with his muzzle.

Not the mother. . .but someone younger. This was the fierce one; he'd heard of her tenacity, especially against Crowell, who hung around the woman too often for his comfort. As if he owned her.

Hex didn't own her, either. No one should.

Brought you something, he said, voice a bit gruff. He sat back awkwardly, looking somewhat younger than his age (nearly two years, unbeknownst to him). Please eat. Or share it with the others, if you're not hungry.

He could just vomit, for all the disgust he felt seeing her like this, and knowing he had taken part.