Shadewood but we go where we want to

A rush of panic sent the rabbits scurrying away, darting toward the dark safety of their homes and scattering up a polar spray of ice - they were not all fast enough. Gwen felt wind smooth her nape, the hot blood rush over her tongue, and her jaws quickly snapped the neck of her prey before she leapt toward another burrow; she aimed to block this one, and those who were fretfully speeding toward it would be stuck between herself and Cry, if he positioned himself there - if not, she'd simply catch whichever she could as they fled.

In truth, the one aspect of hunting smaller prey that she disliked was having to wait before thanking them for their sacrifice; the sacrifice that would allow her and her family to survive in the bitterness of the season, but there was simply no time between catching one and darting toward another. The empress would softly press her cold nose to the furred heads of the deceased once the chase had faltered.

Hopefully Cry was having luck, too.