Dragoncrest Cliffs o, tempora! o, mores!

she's been scarce lately. one couldn't help but probably think she's taken off from Sapphique, but she's only been hunting the deer—and with nothing to show for it. when she comes trotting across the border, she is empty-jawed and sour of temper, indigo eyes burning in dissatisfaction. 

the first small animal that comes across her path is a squirrel, and she dives for it, seizing the creature between her jaws and beginning to shake, viciously—

she feels the spine snap and yet still shakes, each vertebra popping in turn. teeth digging in, blood filling her mouth, the squeal having faded to silence in mere seconds. anger at her failed hunt, taken out on this poor thing.

and she devours it, muzzle stained suddenly, starkly crimson.

it should be a deer.

it should be more than this meager morsel.