Deepwood Weald coma baby

@Eldritch (this is set after the thread with @Ibis & @Antares) feel free to hop in if you'd like, for now I've just referenced her as being nearby.

The practicioner had wandered from her companion, though not far given that this wood was a deep thicket of close-pressing trunks where one could easily become confused and get turned around, intending to rustle up something for them to eat. They'd passed by a clustering of red deer but the elk, even a few injured members amongst their number, were too big and dangerous for the pair to have a hope of hunting them alone. Not only that, but the fresh scents of a nearby pack had littered the land -- survivors of the gods' wrath regrouping perhaps. It had seemed unwise to poach from a herd claimed by territorial pack wolves. 

Ice crackled under her almost inaudible pawsteps, the huntress stalking after the snow-faded trail of a cottontail -- grateful it was not a snowshoe who might blend in with the sparse snow and frost that clung to the winterworn undergrowth. She prayed silently as she trotted through the Weald on ghostly footfalls, hoping that Hircine might feed them with the same generosity that Sithis had only a week or so prior.