Kintla Flatlands and you always knew the way to bring me down

@Whip is this territory ok i am lost pls send help and buffalo wild wings takeout

a grouse rustled in the thicket, its serpentine neck canting in rhythm with each bawdy step -- for a bird doused in muted tones, it did little to conceal itself within the winter-weary and dull landscape.

indra had watched it for some time, her lithe form pressed to the ground and thin stomach tucked from the cold embrace of the frozen earth. the fluttering thing had first garnered her attention when it strolled boldly across her peripherals -- either the bird was simply witless, or it cared little for a predator's presence. indra had followed from a distance into a threadbare and vinegnarled copse, where the bird quit its pacing and settled into a trilling and jovial rhythm. she watched as it turned its conical head sideways, alerted to some distant call in the sunspeckled grove.

if indra was a skilled killer, she would have known it was then she should have struck; instead, she was mesmerized by the rhythmic sway of its tufted skull and the funky, deliberate bob of each slender leg as it furled and fanned its dusky plumage in a baffling metronome known only by itself and possibly others of its kind.

perhaps the redleaf was skinny for a reason -- because she often preferred to study her meals over consume them.

Whip made an unspoken pact with the ravens and the vultures. He followed black wings wherever he went, hoping they'd lead him to food -- and usually, they did. Reduced to the lot of a scavenger, Whip felt himself like a lesser creature; a coyote, picking at scraps whenever able. There was no shame in it, he told himself. It's just what he had to do to survive the winter, lest he turned up like one of the starved corpses from which he fed. The cycle would continue and the ravens would pick Whip's bones clean, upholding their side of the deal.

The birds led Whip west over the mountain and into the grasslands. The snow had melted, but the chill remained. It was with great dissapointment that Whip realized his feathered guides had dispersed and he had lost the trail. But that's when he saw it -- some veiled blessing in the windswept grass. A grouse, distracted by some distant call. The wolf who watched on its opposite side remained unseen for now. Whip only saw a meal.

Without a plan or even the energy needed for such a task, Whip acted purely on impulse. He cut through the grass with speed and delicate precision. The grouse noticed his approach just in time for an ugly collision of wing and tooth.

like the grouse, whip's sudden eruption from the brambles entirely stormed indra by surprise. in an instant the tittering bird was gone-  replaced by a swirl of cold air and the gentle drift of fluttering down-feathers.

indra instinctively stiffened, rising slowly from the bare heather with a cross expression enunciating clearly her displeasure with her study's demise. she peered cautiously at the agouti male, noticing first  (besides the purloined bird in his teeth) the strange scar marks across his slender limbs. she hardly had the energy to reinforce the bird was hers, much less harangue him over a lost meal -- this softened her approach. 

"hi." the red youth ventured, amber gaze locked on the thieved bird clutched in whip's mouth.

The bird died quickly, painlessly. A clean kill. With his conquest hanging limply by the neck in his jaws, Whip felt a simple satisfaction. With every meal, he bought himself time; and time was the most valuable resource of all.

When the adreneline wore off, Whip noticed the wolf a few paces away and he met her eye. "Mhm," he mumbled unceremoniously without dropping his prey. "'ey." She had a cross expression that reminded Whip of his mother -- in fact, most of her reminded him of his mother. She had the same coat. Even the bone structure of her face was similar to Fox. It was like he was looking a sibling he never knew, despite having no relation to the stranger in the slightest. It didn't phase him much.

He dropped the bird and placed a paw on its outstretched, back-bent wing. He tore both feather and flesh away from the body in a jerking motion. "Was this yours?" he asked, chewing with an open mouth.

the soft-furred wolf was not sure how this strange male would react to her appearance; would he simply accept her, or would he contest her arrival by flurry of fang and claw? indra needed no introduction to either, and she did not for a moment doubt he was capable of clearing her from the land if it was his will to. his show of force on the bird had done enough to keep indra quiet (for the most part).

in some ways she envied the agouti's athletic scope and acquired skill - indra had always been a fumbler: she plowed through childhood coarse and blundering, and even as an adult hunting skill was not a subset she mastered. as she watched the male masticate she did not press forward, instead electing to recline on her haunches in a somewhat passive guesture.

"no," she answered quickly, though she was surprised he asked it. "i mean, i was watching it." she blurted, certain she must sound ridiculous. "it was dancing." truth be told, indra did not quite grasp the ceremony the bird had put on display - especially considering it seemed the only audience present was one that wished to eat it.

"Dancing?" Whip spoke. His brow furrowed with confusion. "Looked like it was just doing bird stuff to me." It was a lesser creature; the bird did not possess the level of intelligence that was typical of Whip's species. In Whip's mind, the bird was only prey. It didn't know what it was doing. It simply existed. Lifeless. Thoughtless. An object to be used and consumed. "Well, it was." Now it was still. Torn and tattered, and partially eaten.

He stopped stripping away meat from the bird's hollow bones for a moment and fixed his eyes on Indra. Did she really feel something for this biological placeholder? Whip pushed the body forward and it rolled clumisly over itself in her direction. "I can share if you want," he offered. The turning of the season didn't allow for compassion or niceties, but if the stranger had previously laid claim on the bird, Whip thought the offer to be fair (and bordering on generous).

he didn't get it. while indra was not surprised, it did little to soften the blow. her features subtly crumpled as she watched him rip the fragile thing from limb to limb. just moments before the barr-feathered bird had been pacing the ground in an elaborate display of feather and gaiety. twenty seconds ago seemed like a lifetime. for the bird, it may well have been.

she hadn't expected the stranger to offer his meal. a dull pang thrummed in her empty stomach as she considered the offer, but she wouldn't take it. it was not right - indra knew the law of the world: those that take get ahead - those that do not get left behind. she had not executed the kill, and so it was not hers to govern. she could not violate such an ironbound convention. it was not her bird to take.

indra was not concerned with appearing rude as she shook her head to decline the offer. "who are you?" she asked, watching him from a distance as he consumed his meal. the two exchanged mild pleasantries and indra was quick on her way.

she didn't come across another grouse as she returned home, but she did manage to secure one hapless vole, which she proudly supplanted in bearclaw's caches once she made it home. it had not been an entirely unsuccessful day, and indra had at least garnered some sort of experience from her efforts.