Redhawk Caldera days gone by

Fox didn’t voice recognition of her own when Crow offered her name, but the little black female consciously refrained from enlightening her further. It was entirely possible and altogether fair if the relation held no meaning for the alpha female. In fact, Crow interpreted the lack of comment as a sign and assurance that her own slate was clean and she was free make what she would of herself without the possible burden of family ties in a pack that was unfamiliar to her. She was quite comfortable without the addition of a bias either for or against her just then.

The touch of ego exhibited when Fox confirmed her name was endearing to Crow, who smiled, although when questioned as to what animal she’d schlepped over, her brow began to furrow before it smoothed and gave in to the grin that followed. She glanced at the dead animal for a moment, then away again to demonstrate she had no intention of stealing it back. “It’s a fisher! Which is a… larger variety of marten, you might say. Not quite as common.” A thought she’d had earlier while hunting during the first round struck her for the second time. “Would you have thought ill of me for bringing you a fox?” Because it had almost happened.