Deepwood Weald keeper

Spring’s breath wove through the land, carrying warmth that barely kissed the shade’s weary frame. Rhaena did not stop; never did, never would. Periwinkle eyes flicked left, then right, her nose twitching, but not for the scent of her dam this time. No, she hunted something far more pressing. Hunger gnawed at her ribs, loud enough for any passerby to hear, but she would not beg. She would take.
Frost still clung to the earth beneath her paws when she finally found it: a rabbit, small, pitiful, but enough. It had no idea, no chance. She moved as she was taught, silent and swift. Then, she struck.
Warm blood met her tongue, and for a moment, the taste dulled the ache in her belly. But memories had their own way of creeping in, unwelcome and stubborn: Find me when you’re ready.
Her jaw tensed, ears twitching, but she forced the thought aside. Not now. She tore another bite, crimson smearing her dark muzzle. The past would wait. Hunger would not.