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As Zombie completed the turn around the tree branch, she was met immediately by an attack. Her jaws opened, teeth ready to come down hard on the limbs that were coming down on her head and neck—until she realized that they were far too high-reaching to be the fox she had been pursuing. In the same instant that her attacker backed away, so did Zombie—but her ears remained flat in aggression, and her lips remained bared to expose slavering teeth. If she had inadvertently made contact before pulling away, Zombie would not apologize; for all she knew, the other was regrouping to attack again.

The fox she had been after darted between the pair, their confusion as all the opportunity the vixen had needed to escape. At this, Zombie growled in frustration, but she did not give chase—it was too late, and she intended to find out who had kept her from her much-needed dinner.

Whoever it was, they seemed guilty enough in their posture and expression. Zombie found herself at a loss for words, but managed—with an annoyed snort—"Not forgiven." Times were quickly becoming desperate, and foxes weren't exactly unintelligent. They weren't usually prey, and they would now know that the wolves they shared the forest with were hungry enough to go against the unspoken truce between the two species. Zombie doubted the foxes would inhabit this place much longer. As if to punctuate the situation, the yearling's stomach rumbled loudly.

"I'm Zombie," she returned with a heavy, defeated sigh.