Emberwood It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair.

Deep in the forest, where the mountains loomed as sheer cliffs she could not climb nor cross, Ibis lingered. Most of the leaves had been shed from the trees around her, and with the snow falling in silent waves, soon the forest's namesake embers were gone—buried. It was a dry cold that prickled her skin; the fog lingering just above the dirt added an eerie feeling to the scene, making Ibis uneasy. Mostly though she felt calm, tired... Her nose was running and every so often the girl sniffled or coughed softly, but tried to keep her sounds subdued.

She was trying to hunt. There had been a warm scent to one of the leaf piles that made her think of rats, and her hungry belly rumbled at the thought of fresh meat. Ibis had been so busy managing everyone else and trying to keep on top of everything that she had forgotten to eat for quite a while (which otherwise would've been fine, but with the famine ongoing, such forgetfulness was extremely detrimental). She followed the scent until it diluted and faded; then she would double-back, often through freshly fallen snow which obscured her previous path.

It took work for her to slog through the snow. It was harder for her here than the marsh, she thought—but by now the marsh would've been frozen solid and made more dangerous overall, so she knew deep down that it was safer here among the trees. It was difficult for her to judge the depth of the snow and on more than one occasion she'd plunged after the scent without thinking, only to go so deep in to the white that she was lost to it, surfacing after some struggle.

She'd learned not to do that so readily, but not before her body rebelled a little bit. Her nose felt raw with each breath, her eyes watered against the wind, and her coughing was getting worse by the hour. Eventually she did give up on her hunt and began to hike away from the forest's heart, wondering how the caches fared or if there was anything of value left within them. Warm meat was the best remedy for whatever ailed her, but that was in short supply.

most nights marten spent feeling rather lonesome. he either slept too much or not enough, and nights he slept it was mostly restless. outside the territory he'd managed to find an abandoned cache. in the cache, though mostly crispy, frozen stacks of dried leaves and small holes dug into the now solid earth, marten had found poppyseeds. not many, mind you, but enough to bring a calm, numbness that could lull him to sleep. he did it a few times, not consecutively, before he ultimately ran out. he reckoned it was for the best, too -- something about them felt unsettling. but boy... did he miss the sleep. 

today was a day following a rather restless night, and he was feeling a little out of it. he missed days where he could take naps with indra, sunbathe on a boulder in the hollow -- or by the mother stone. no -- that was the past. that couldn't happen now. he needed other distractions. other ways to cope. to heal... but, could he ever heal? 

ibis had become the brunt of marten's grieving process -- though neither of them could've been wiser. she was not indra. she'd never be indra. but to a wolf who'd given his life to someone... only to lose them anyway, what else was he supposed to do? ibis seemed kind enough. marten would follow her loyally. that's all he had to say.

he'd just barely managed to grab a rather dull looking rabbit. scrawny, unhappy, but certainly a warm meal. marten hadn't much of an appetite that day, unsurprisingly, so when he catches wind of ibis he turns towards it. his tail swings when he spots her, ears flicking as he lets out a low chuff. through the rabbit, marten says, care for a snack?

She had just begun to scrape away at one of the older caches; older being somewhat arbitrary since the group recently relocated, which meant the majority of their cache system was pretty fresh. It didn't feel fresh or in any way easy since the chill of winter had made the dirt so tough. Ibis wasn't a physically strong person so her attempts to plant any fresh kills tended to be shallow (and maybe someone corrected her efforts after-the-fact, she couldn't know for sure). She had sought out one of her own shallow little pits and worked at it, but did not make much progress before her wrists and forelimbs were sore; her shoulders twitched and began to ache a little, so she stopped.

Thankfully someone else was nearby. The pale shape drifted with the snow, arriving just as she settled on her haunches. The smell of rabbit was strong and fresh, and Ibis couldn't help but lick her lips as the fragrance flooded the area. As she turns to look at Marten she smiles, her ears twisting to catch his voice. If you're offering, I won't refuse—if you're sure though. Her eyes were hungry; she looked to the rabbit and then to Marten as if to ask for permission. She didn't want to take something from him if he needed it himself—he was a much larger wolf than she was, and would need more sustenance. A pause—waiting for an answer maybe—and she asks with a conversational tone, How are you?

marten nods, no words needed to reiterate that point. as if she needed permission, she was leader here after all, she could step on him as payment, if she so desired. he waits for her to take it before he responds, his ears cupped forwards as a lie so easily slips from his pale maw. fine, he says simply, settling in well, found an old cache a little north of here... not too much in it, but good to start my own in the midst of winter. 

another pause. what about you? how do you like the woods? he asks, knowing she had favored the stinking marsh to this place. he imagined it was lovely in the springtime. mm.

That was a good sign, the cache. The group seemed to be working together quite well so far and they'd dug-in to the forest over the past few days. It felt more and more like home with each new sunrise. How do you like the woods? Marten asks and gives her a little look, to which Ibis shrugs and smirks.

I thought I'd miss the marsh more than I do, which is interesting. Its definitely different here but in a good way; not so damp all the time, not so cold. And when the autumn had been in full effect, the woods had burned brightly with so many glorious colors, most of which Ibis would never have experienced had they stuck to the boggy marshland. It feels like home. At least a little bit.

She takes the kill and carefully, swiftly, strips some flesh from it and then pushes it back towards him — unwilling to take the lion's share; she eats like a bird most days so this shouldn't be too surprising. As she's licking her lips clean Ibis counters his question with her own: Have you met many of the others?