Blackfeather Woods your heart is warm

Snow has captured the Wilds, covering even the low-lying plains. Aldric thinks back to the first time he’s witnessed snow, sickly and only a few months old. The desire to chase snowflakes had consumed the child in him then, and yet, he’d never been able to. Perhaps now, he could, in theory.

Yet instead of snowflakes, he is hot on the trail of a hare. Food has been scarce, but it seems slowly the Wilds have ceased their destructive path. Razikale content, having been satisfied by something unknown to the Toth follower. He is not as swift as hunters, nor the stealth of Nirali, yet he pulls his weight.

So he darts after the hare, using the grace found in a warrior’s movement instead of a hunter’s. Further they chase into the barren woods.

it is her fault, really; caught up in following the trails in her own home, she is blind to her surroundings, made dull by the security she used to feel here. she is on edge, wanting to find some clue as to why this place is empty, but wary at every corner, every dim shadow, for fear she might see her mother's lifeless stare boring back at her. it is stupid, she knows, but it—

someone, something, headed directly toward her. a hare, dimly acknowledged, and then it, he, is there. she is purely reactionary as she leaps, fangs bared for his face, snarl torn from her not in aggression, but in shock.

The crunched snow underfoot and the panicked run are loud enough to warn whatever else scurries about these woods. Aldric, however, manages to startle the wrong sort. His movement jars, halting with his hind-end leaning forth and his front leaning back. Hips posed close towards the ground in a slide on snow. Neck and head arched upwards in a lift.

A young face full of teeth leaps towards him. It is as if time slows with the breath he takes, yet nonetheless, Aldric moves. The ex-prince’s cheek is sliced, a bare miss across the lower portion and lacking a hold. Hips pivot enough for the prince to attempt latching his own hold upon the girl, to wrap around her muzzle and force her down.

she is at a disadvantage, she realizes quickly. pure reaction is no way to win a fight, and yet it is how she'd started it. she will not back down, either, knowing the unpredictability of strangers and determined not to show weakness after her sudden onslaught. her muzzle is gripped tight, forced down, and she lacks the power needed to force her head back up. taking advantage of what she can is crucial.

abruptly, she charges forward, lowering her head further to protect her neck. she aims to ram directly into the male, a target made easy by their proximity, in an attempt to bowl him over. she does something right; for he falls back, and just as quickly is gone. panting, recovering her breath, the girl waits a long moment before hunting after his scent and ensuring it leaves her borders.