Sun Mote Copse choke all my love away

Hunting thread, or can be anything.

The land grew wet and cold, and fast, so he deviated away from the bulk of it. Beyond midnight, passing through the early morning (the October sky retaining a grim greyness), it began to rain, but Titmouse wasn't aware of the tiny pitter-patter of the drops as he crossed through the forest. The trees murmured a whispered chorus as the rain picked up, and before he was thoroughly drenched by the oncoming mess of precipitation, Tit felt a calm descend upon him. The scents in the air were stronger now - heavier almost, carried by the water and intensified; he thought he could smell fox among the trees, then squirrel, but there was no movement. He would have to keep prowling if he hoped to catch anything edible for himself. If all else failed, scavenging would work just as well.

The steamy shrouds of clouds hung low across the earth, thrumming with life before they turned the soil into muck. The rain carried the scent of fallen leaves in its wake, spreading the cold of fall around the atmosphere. Feyre managed to stay under the protective cover of the canopy for most of the rainfall, merely prowling about in wait for the silver-line droplets to disperse. She had time. Too much time. Hunger was the only thing she truly felt, and it seemed to be the only thing that mattered to her as of now.

The fae's brow shot northwards as she spotted another figure in the annoying mist of rain, a young wolf. She paused for a second, hesitating, before she let loose a chuff. The noise was nearly a question, because it seemed quite obvious that the young wolf was searching for food just as she - with his snout tilted to the thickened air to catch better scents.

He caught sight of movement, finally, but it wasn't food that he spotted: it was a pale girl. She didn't look to be much bigger than himself. The overcast sky made everything so dim and blue-grey that she seemed ethereal - but in the way a ghost seems ethereal. Menacing, almost. The boy adjusted his path to coincide with her position, but by the time Titmouse found his way closer, the sky had decided to open up and spill sheets of water. He shook off and ducked beneath some low-hanging branches of a young spruce, and then while blinking through the rain called out: Hello? Just in case she was a ghost.

Just as the rain turned from an annoying mist to a true downpour, the dark stranger called out to her in a friendly question. Feyre tucked further underneath her own tree, mirroring the other wolf's movements. The fae was positive that the other wolf was confused. Perhaps he had not seen another in a long time, or perhaps it was the fog playing with his eyes. "Hello," Her response was mellow, friendly, "Attempting to find food during the hardest weather you could possibly do it in?" Her amber optics glinted with slight humor, but there was nothing humorous about the fact that the rain had vanquished all of the tracks.

A voice. So he wasn't imagining things! That was a good sign. The stranger didn't seem all that friendly though, and threw an accusatory jumble of words at Titmouse; rather, that's how he took it. Judgemental. Light sounding, but with all kinds of implications to the sensitive boy. His nose wrinkled. 

Maybe I'm just that good! But the rebuttal didn't have much oomph to it. Tit's teeth had begun to chatter and he was clearly not suited for this terrible weather. He sank back beneath the shadows of the trees after that. There was no way to keep dry though... The rain was hard and fast, and each jostle of a drop against the boughs caused a domino affect from each shivering limb.

The fae's young aquaintance seemed silightly naive to the subtilities of language, specifically to her specialty - sarcasm. His response came out as defensive and was lilted with a trace of instability - whether it was due to the cold weather or a stutter, she did not know. Feyre's brow rose to form a pitch, her had inclining to the side ever so slightly.

"I see." This time the wolf would be correct to assume she was judging him. The wolf seemed odd to her, but it was not as if she had anything better to do than to wander about the forests. Although it was suit her better to be in search of her next meal, she was not nessesarily starving. She could not judge whether or not the stranger had eaten for a while. "I don't know about yourself, but I would prefer not to hunt in this... undesirable weather." She enunciated her point by lowering herself down upon her haunches and leaning as close to the trees trunk as she could get.

Titmouse wasn't about to be shown-up by a girl, but he couldn't deny that she was right. Hunting right now was a stupid idea even for him, so he merely harummphed. The boy hunkered beneath the tree and became a grey blob as he curled into himself. His tail tucked neatly against his cheek, and he awkwardly tried to fit his long limbs beneath his thin body as if he were a goose trying to nest atop some eggs. It wasn't comfortable. He had nothing else to say to the girl - too stubborn really - and began to mope within the shadows.

The other wolf seemed to begrudgingly accept her statement, which brought a slight smirk to Feyre's maw. She neglected to acknowledge his noise of disgruntled approval, and instead persisted onwards with her seemingly onesided conversation. "How long have you been out of a pack?" It was a simple question, one formed by oberving his equivelent age. Her brow furrowed once more, narrowing at his feline positioning. She paused, shifting more comfortably against the rough bark of the tree, before speaking once more. "Or perhaps your name is something you more clearly remember?" There was a harmless tease in her voice as she attempted to get the creature to say something at all.

He wasn't in a particularly good mood, and certainly wasn't sociable. The rain was ruining everything. While he thought he was being really awesome, this stranger had pointed out the flaws in his plan - and so Tit, being a stubborn jackass, wasn't about to make nice. None-a-your-business! He blurted, and began to unfurl himself from the not-so-dry place he'd decided to make his bed. The trees weren't sheltering him much from the rain, and it was getting colder as he got wetter. He lifted himself from off his chest, got to his paws, and began to slink away, skulking and frustrated.