Swiftcurrent Creek who would trade that hum at night

she had become an apt hunter, and yet, her navigational skills remain as poor as over. she does not remember when last she'd seen her mother, her sisters; the days and weeks seem vague, unreliable. she knows how to read the little things; those certain bird calls which cue danger, the way scavengers point the way to a meal, those changes all around that are precursors to a storm. and yet she can not find her plateau, no matter how many similar-looking rocky passages she follows. 

a grey jaw calls, auds press forward curiously. there too comes the croak of a raven, and hope bubbles. pressing forward, she moves toward the distant calls, certain some prize should await her at the other end. a storm threatens, and she makes haste to find the potential meal before the coming snow veils it from her.

Home. Home, but not home — not really, he thinks. His ears fold back over his skull, eyes trained to the ground as he walks. Each step leaves half a pawprint of bright spotty blood, the earth tearing his flesh anew with each impact, but he hardly feels it. Home is with Helios. Even if the rest of their family was here, here where they belong instead of crushed under some rocks next to some stupid mountain, the Creek would not be his home. It never had been.
I hate you, He announces to the air, halting. The words feel good, somehow, like scratching an itch he's never been able to reach before. He tries again. I hate you. His heart is beating fast now, breaths coming just as quick, and he revels in it, though he can't quite tell if the feeling is joy or panic. I HATE YOU! For not being my home, for not giving me peace, for not teaching me and protecting me and loving me the way you did all the others —
And suddenly he isn't sure who he'd been talking to. Certainly not the girl he sees too late in the distance. Oh, shit. He freezes, face flushing, and simply stares.

the yelling is enough to shock her into stillness, auds pressed back against her crown as gaze moves to meet the raging boy. he is the first wolf she's seen in a week, and he is fully of hate and ire. she takes an uneasy step back, very much a deer in headlights as she struggles to do something, anything, besides stare back at him. "I'm sorry." is what finally makes its way from her maw, that familiar guilt settling across her shoulders. her tail tucks close as the first flakes begin to fall, barely, heat spreading across her cheeks.

so sorry for the wait! i got kinda stuck on my reply

Irritation floods him after a few seconds as the realization sinks in fully; he'd embarrassed himself in front of some girl, and he has no idea how to explain it away. Her apology fans the flames for a moment, but something about her demeanor keeps him from yelling the way he wants to. I wasn't talking to you, He snaps thoughtlessly, nonetheless rather prickly at what he perceives as a very rude intrusion. Why would I talk to some dumb girl? The words feel ugly as they leave him, and he almost wants to take them back — but then he remembers all the times he's been called a girl. She, her, daughter — I hate girls.