Redtail Rise On Top of Spaghetti

Masquerade followed a scent trail eastward into the neighboring grotto. At its edge, she came upon a freshly dead squirrel. She squinted at the corpse, uncertain what might’ve killed it. There was no blood, no marks on its small body. She sniffed closer and detected a peculiarity in the scent, though it didn’t mean anything to her.

Wariness prevented her from scavenging the dead animal, though it didn’t stop her from continuing to inspect it, curious about the manner of its death. Masque nosed at its body—limp and still a little warm too—until it flopped onto its back. Her eyes were drawn to the poor rodent’s pale underside, particularly a comically over-sized pair of testicles.

May he rest in peace, I guess, the young she-wolf mused, stepping backward and leaving the body behind as she began walking back toward the rise. Unless he wasn’t a he at all, a voice in the back of her mind muttered, causing her brow to furrow.

Ever since her encounter with Panacea, she had felt a little confused, for lack of a better word. Biological sex had seemed very straightforward to her until she’d crossed paths with him. Now, she wasn’t so sure. And furthermore, she occasionally found herself wondering if she really felt like a she… honestly, Masque wanted nothing to do with sex in any of its forms or meanings.

Masquerade reached the foot of the rise and dropped their snout, combing for a fresh scent to track.