Blackfeather Woods and when the band plays "hail to the chief"

There was not much to hunt, these days. Nightstar was embarrased to be dragging this coyote carcass into their borders. It was still and half-eaten by buzzards, and already a little too tough to be handled easily. Coyote, too, was not the most desireable of meats as far as the male was concerned.

But it was all he could find. The trails he'd followed were all criss-crossing and confused, and it was clear to him now that prey animals and predators alike were fleeing the area. Of course they were. Why he and Moonshadow remained was uncertain to him, but it was difficult enough to find his voice during simple exchanges. He wouldn't survive an encounter where he actually had to talk about something.

He stopped and stared down at the meager meal, a feeling of regret and insufficiency and creeping horror threatening to sweep him away. The images associated with this feeling were still vague and half-formed, but the pitiful carcass in front of him seemed enough, in this instance, to cover at least two of the three emotions.