Silvertip Mountain See, I'm in love with how your soul's a mix of chaos and art.

The white beast lost his footing, stumbling over the severed wolf limb he hadn't expected his target to drop, yet Lupita did not ease her stride. She carried on across the fields at speed even when he abandoned the chase, stopping only when she as though her lungs had been set aflame. Tongue lolling, she sucked in a breath with every rapid pant as she lingered in the shallows of a stream with the hope that any scouts would lose track of her should they be ordered to follow.

She turned her head, pointed her sharp muzzle in the direction from which she'd come to scan for any sign of pursuit, allowing taut muscles to slacken when certain of her escape. Lupita, despite the misfortune of losing out on a meal she could've buried for when her stomach growled again, took a moment to revel in the success she did experience: her hunger sated and belly filled, the agouti rouge would live to see the weeks ahead.

Lowering her crown, Lupita lapped at the water's crisp surface and drank deep her fill before wading deeper into the river, emerging sodden on the other side where she groomed the excess liquid from her furs to carry on toward the mountain just beyond.

She did not ascend its treacherous slopes, fearful that she could face a fate similar to that of the brute she'd fed from. Lupita, beneath the dimming evening sunlight, instead nosed along the base in search of a safe place so that she might rest and contemplate her next course of action.