Barrow Fields sky underground

His hunger seemed echoed by her own, though she had a clear outlet for her needs. Frozen flesh, hard and frostburned though it might be, was still something which filled one's belly.

I could hunt for her, the panther thought, searching still for a way to feed the part of himself that felt most needful. That was a start — but he feared that, if he moved now, she would flee from him. And if he turned away to track down a gift of hot, fresh blood, he would never see her again.

He wished he were a man, with a moon-shaped trap to catch her in, like he had seen out in the plains.

"I can bring you something fresher," he told her, lowering himself to his belly in supplication. To try and appear friendly, though his gaze was still intent, and his body still strung tight with readiness.