Arrow Lake every breath of borrowed time is heavy in my chest.

"Encounters a... Scavenger." Rolled for myself.

It wasn't yet midday but the sky had lost its lustre beneath a blanket of abyssmal clouds, and their presence caused an increase to the humidity; the boy had no words for it, but he felt cloistered by the pressure in the air and was eager to find some way to manage through it. While he was typically in the presence of one of his siblings and rough-housing with them for all it was worth, in this moment he was alone and content in his solitude. He trailed along the lake's edge for an hour with his head down and senses engaged, mouthing at large rocks jutting from their spaces in the shallows or scratching at some of the reeds growing off-kilter in the soil; little things to keep him occupied while he explored.

He perused the edge of the lake for a bit after that, huffing air from his nose and causing a spray of bubbles to cascade and break the calm; the taste of the water on his lips was precious, and prompted him to linger a little longer for a few licks — then turn away, a spasm of disinterest brought on by a shift in the wind. The boy thought he could smell blood, except it wasn't fresh. It was a dull mineral-like scent which caused his belly to clench and limbs to stiffen on approach, but he roamed closer and closer, hunting for it. There was a smattering of something across the silver grass which he investigated, nipped at, but could not decypher. The boy paused then, watching his surroundings and listening with an intense stillness he'd never managed before.

Something - a force, a creature maybe - grew so furious with his presence that it erupted from the underbrush and nearly took his head off in its frenzy; the movement gave rise to an instinctive need to chase, to grab, and as the creature attempted to use that moment of confusion for an escape, Mesa was erupting in youthful snarls and gnashing teeth to compensate.

bringing this up to 9/5 as discussed unless you want it to be moved to present now since I took forever. Just let me know, and I can edit.

Taki heard the snarls and clashing together of teeth just as she made her way to the lake. She had gone to find some distraction from her grief, and instead was met with alarming sounds coming from her son. Her previously calm trot quickly morphed into a sprint as she hurried to find Mesa and help him with whatever situation he had found himself in.

It didn't take her long to catch up to him, but he was chasing something himself. She couldn't quite make out what the creature was yet, but she pushed herself to move even faster, hoping to make it to him within just a few more seconds. As fast as he was, she was still faster for now due simply to her much longer legs. She may have been overreacting, but until she was sure he was in no danger, she would operate under the assumption that danger was imminent.

That works!

The boy raced after the shape of something small and easily missed. The closer he got the more he snarled and snapped, until the shape turned upon him in a defensive arc. The flash of stout legs and a long, thin body would tell the watchful adult what was happening: Mesa had come across an otter of all things, and in its mouth was a half-eaten chunk of fish likely dragged from a cache. It shrieked as it spat the prize away and launched for Mesa's face, but was met by his small teeth bared in protest.

She jumped into the scuffle just as the otter met Mesa's teeth. The arrival of a much larger predator seemed to startle it enough to attempt to scurry away. The piece of fish clearly stolen from their cache laid forgotten, cast aside in the creatures attempt to flee. Taki wouldn't let the little thief get away, though, especially not after it attacked her son. Plus, it seemed like a good learning opportunity. She quickly jumped forward, launching from the ground on powerful legs, her muscles tensing in response to her demand of them. She landed on the otter and pinned it to the ground under her front half, its teeth sinking into her arm before she could maneuver her limbs in a way that pushed its head into the ground.

Wherever her son was at the time, she glanced up at him expectantly, waiting for him to jump in and help her finish the hunt.

Everything happened quickly:

The otter bared its teeth and dropped the fish.

The boy bared his in response and lunged,
but did not snap quickly enough.

Then there was the body of his mother—charging forth, crushing the creature against the dirt.A muffled squeal.

A bloom of red where the otter bit in to the flesh of his mother's forelimb; she did not tremble, did not appear to notice at all really, and looked to Mesa expectantly. He was awed by the display. The little creature kicked and squirmed beneath the weight of the wolf's hold, and Mesa did not waste time.

He moved to intercept the creature where it was stuck, snapping at it and tugging at its flailing limbs; a crack denoted the break of at least one of them, and that sent the otter in to a frenzy of twisting. The boy was enthralled by the game that had sprung up in the wake of this hunt: he found it invigorating, not realizing that he was actually terrorizing the poor creature. It was food, right? It wasn't as intelligent as a wolf nor as useful, and it was destined to be killed—either for the crime of pilfering a cache or simply to fill his belly. The morality of the moment was lost on the child.

When he grew bored of his terrorizing he finally descended upon the creature and gripped it tightly with his teeth, crunching down and feeling the energy drain away, muted by death.

She watched her son battle with the creature, refraining from helping anymore than making sure it didn't go anywhere. When she worried the process was being unnecessarily drawn out, she almost jumped in and ended it, but Mesa beat her to it, sinking his teeth into the struggling prey. When then thief had finally succumbed to its brutal end, she moved sit in front of her son and his kill. Good job, she praised. She took his hesitance to kill at first as just inexperience, something he would get better at as he grew older and hunted more. She looked him over. Are you injured? She couldn't see anything obvious, but the otter had dealt a pretty good bite to her leg, and she wondered if it had left any similar marks on Mesa that would need to be tended by Mahler.

His heart raced; breath came to him in bursts, his tongue soon lolling from one side of his muzzle, and once there he noticed a warmth to the fur of his snout that earned a lick. The strong metallic taste of blood startled him, but soon Mesa was cleaning himself off properly—almost obsessively.

When Takiyok spoke he gave a wolfish grin in response, the expression dominating his face. Can we do that again? Asks the boy, brimming with vigor, an abundance of confidence that overwhelmed every other aspect of the situation; he did not heed her questions, and began to root around with his nose inches from the soil, eager to find a second target. I betcha I can do one all by myself! But that was unlikely, considering his lack of experience.

She loved to see him so excited about something, especially with all that was going on, but she felt he was missing the purpose of this lesson. He stated his belief that he could successfully hunt another creature on his own and immediately began searching. Mesa, she called out. Come back here please. She looked to the discarded carcass. We can't just leave this out here, son. We hunt for food not for fun. Hunting was fun, sure, but it served a very important purpose and should only be done when neccessary. Unless you're hungry right now, then you need to take this carcass and bring it to the cache. That's how this works.

He was more interested in the smells around him, but when his mother spoke up and called for his attention he dutifully returned—lagging just a bit as he veered in another direction after a scent, but, he did eventually focus and do as he was told. Her explanation sounded boring; why couldn't she dig a hole and plant the body, then? Why did he have to do that part? But even with his unspoken questions filling his mind, Mesa knew not to voice them. He grumbled a bit as he sought a soft patch of loam and then was busy cutting in to it with his dulled claws, scraping a little hollow as hastily as he could (resulting in a very shallow result), and then sought out, grabbed, and speedily tossed the dead thing upon it. He didn't think to cover it again, and looked impatiently to his mother as if to say, okay I did it, can I go now?

She silently watched him dig the hole, pick up the kill, and then place it inside his poor excuse for a cache. She made note of everything he had done incorrectly and when he turned to her, his expression impatient, she raised a disapproving eyebrow. Do you think that will keep the food safe from scavengers? she asked, walking over to his hole and slowly moving around it. Come back over here, she instructed as she took a seat next to his shoddy work. It's not deep enough and you have failed to cover your cache properly. He could be irritated with her all he wanted, but they weren't leaving here until he had done this properly. You need to fix it before we move on to anything else, she instructed further. It's important to keep our food stored safely so that our efforts do not go to waste. This was an important lesson for him, and she was perfectly content to sit right here and point out every mistake until he got it right. It wasn't a task that was beyond his comprehension; it just seemed like he wasn't interested in giving it his full attention. But she certainly wasn't going to do it for him, and she wasn't going to let him leave here today without a complete understanding of what needed to be done.

She readily outlined his laziness, his poor attempt to complete the bare minimum, which he really should have anticipated but somehow had failed to. Her words were not barbed; she spoke plainly and to the point, austere for the moment, watching him and directing him. Mesa ducked his head slightly beneath the weight of her attention and drew closer yet again. She wanted it deeper, which would take more effort. She wanted it well placed and covered, which would tired him. His mother's unrelenting list of requirements grew and soon, Mesa was moving to her whims with his ears slanting back.

He uncovered the thinly veiled dead thing and pulled it free from the spot. Then he began to work at the soil, clawing without fervor at first, catching dirt and pulling at it. Eventually the scrape was more of a pit. He did not look up as he went — pushing himself to dig for a little bit longer even though his shoulders were beginning to tire, unused to this style of activity. Then when he was satisfied that the pit was deep (perhaps too deep!) he rebounded to where the dead thing lay discarded, and grasping it with his teeth, gave a hasty toss. The bulk hit the pit and sagged inside.

The boy was panting lightly as he began to cover it over; he kicked the dirt back in to place with his hind feet but found it did not do the trick, so he turned around. Finally the thing was covered, planted more like, and he squatted where he had been standing previously, too tired to counter his mother's diatribe with words or anything at all. He glanced at her once, for confirmation, and after a beat he looked away as if wounded.

Taki watched him return to working on the hole, choosing not to critique the deepness of it; it was a lesson best learned the hard way, and she was sure he would do just that eventually. When he was satisfied with his digging, he tossed the carcass inside his fresh cache and began to cover it back over. She didn't need to comment on his hind leg method for pushing dirt back into the hole; he soon realized that the task was made much easier by using the front legs. 

When he was finished, he took a seat, glancing at her once before averting his gaze, looking as if someone had kicked him or taken away his dinner. He was dramatic, wasn't he? She almost laughed at his theatrics but decided against it since he had done as she asked without one single complaint. Oh, come on now, it wasn't that bad, she said, walking towards him. And now you know the importance of keeping our food safe and preserved. She lifted an eyebrow at him. Do you want to track something else now? she asked, wondering if he had tired himself out with his cache making. Maybe the prospect of another hunt would get him excited again.

Wanna fade here? :)

He was surly and tired after all that work, but the mention of another hunt perked him up a bit - not that Mesa wasn't further disgruntled by the offer too, to some degree. It was like playing tug-of-war; he didn't want to give an inch, but his mother knew the way to his heart and something exciting like another hunt would easily dwarf the tedious digging of caches. He was flustered from the digging and his maladapted body was getting sore, growing stronger, but he still had the energy of a child. He would bounce back quickly if given the right incentive - and she'd spoken the magic words.

Do you want to track something else now? She asked, to which Mesa responded by getting to his feet and bounding away from her a few steps. He called over his shoulder, Yeah -- but I'm gonna do it myself this time! Yet even with this proclaimation he paused to let her catch up, keeping her in his periphery to act as a safety net while they prowled the territory together.

sounds good

Her offer quickly put an end to his pouting, and she watched with some surprise as he jumped up and took off, stating that he was going to track all by himself. She smiled at him and moved forward to join him anyway. Alright, I'll just watch then, she offered. She was happy to let him learn this skill without her interference. She would remain close, though, unwilling to leave him to the dangers of the wilds even if she was confident in his growing abilities. He paused to let her catch up, for which she was thankful. But she let him lead the way, offering only her silent, watchful protection as he searched out his next target.