Blacktail Deer Plateau ◊;

because why da hell not

 
he hadn’t meant to follow her.
his paws had taken him west—that was true. the wind pulled at him, the old ache in his bones guided him, and the cold silence of the open land felt more honest than the eyes of men. but her scent lingered in the hollows between stone, and he found it again and again. not by choice. by inevitability.
he hunted because he must. the pronghorn had fallen easy beneath his jaws, small but strong—like her.
he did not think of her until the kill was already cooling in his mouth, blood bitter and hot. then, he did. her thinness, the sharp bones pressed against her skin, the way her eyes had gone wide when she ran. not from him—but perhaps because of him. he did not like the thought.
when he found her again, curled small in the dark hollow of a cave, sleep tangled around her like roots, he stood at the mouth of it for a long while. staring. thinking.
then, without a word, he stepped forward.
the pronghorn hit the ground with a thud, legs folded beneath it, neck slack. not a gift. not pity. just... left.
he slowly began to turn.