Sun Mote Copse You question the choices in your life.

Blackheart was in a sorry state.

She had not left the area yet, against all better judgement, as she was afraid of what might be out there in the big wide world. It was obvious by now that her Man was not coming back to retrieve her. Her interest in the autumnal boy, Bronco, waxed and waned alongside her panic; she did not know how to survive out here and soon she would waste away to nothing, but at the same time she knew it was unfair to rely on the boy's aid. As a native to these lands he would know the best places to find food or to sleep soundly, but Blackheart could not always find an adequate scent trail to follow as she sought him - or she would be distracted by the winging of a frightened bird from her path, a rabbit through the gorse. She knew she must give chase to these instead and at first she did try to keep up, but as her tucked belly became more obvious and her residual energy levels waned, she could not focus enough.

In desperation she had sought out whatever could ease the pain in her stomach, chewing on grass no longer sufficed and often made her dry-heave instead of curtailing her pain. Whatever youth she still held felt as if it had faded during this personal disaster. She felt like she was many seasons beyond her prime, lethargic, with aches in places she could not name; they all bled together in to a perpetual static clouding her judgement. She needed food—or she needed help—and could find neither.

At least, not until she found Bronco's scent again. It wasn't like she wanted to stalk him; but she knew nobody in this place, and the native population remained well hidden to her. Then again, she slept in a tight dark bundle in forgotten hollows each night, so it was very likely her own habits were making that worse for her. She hadn't really found Bronco's scent but many like it—dog scents gone rogue, thick in some places and thin in others. As she fawn-stepped across an invisible line, Blackheart discovered another scent: clay soil tangled with what smelled like chicken. She had not seen a chicken in this place and presumed it was a pheasant.

Her belly groaned. She looked around with a lazy sweep of her eyes, not exactly effective in her effort, and nose-dived at the dirt, clawing at it. Soon enough the top soil was loosened enough to expose something; she shoved her face deeper and gripped, tugged, could not free the morsel; but the feeling of dry feathers on her tongue was motivation enough. It hurt to dig—her shoulders burned before too long, her paw pads scraped on debris enough to bleed, her wrists were stiff—but the half-eaten pheasant was soon unearthed and she grappled with its limp neck, pulling it free triumphantly.

Alyx definitely wasn't supposed to be here, but when had that ever stopped her? She'd already forgotten all about that time Meerkat was grounded, the only thing holding her back from misbehaving, so here she was, loitering in forbidden places. There was a lot more stimulation for her sniffer here than could be found in the rendezvous on account of all the wolves who came and went, including curious outsiders who snuck up to the borders here and there only to depart before a sentry found them.

Alyx was busily investigating such unfamiliar scents when the sound of scuffling paws and crumbling earth drew her attention away from the ground beneath her nose. Woah—how had she not seen that strange black-and-tan wolf before now? Alyx stood on her tippy toes to get a better look at Blackheart. She might've passed for a small, skinny wolf if not for her whip-thin tail and the way her ears framed the sides of her face, which made the little Redhawk blink hard, convinced she was seeing things.

Hey! she called out, trotting merrily toward Blackheart, you're real funny lookin', you know that? How come you— but before she could finish the thought, two and two finally came together as she realized that this weird wolf was hauling something up from one of their caches. Maybe Blackheart was a Firebird, too, but Alyx couldn't remember seeing her around, and a perfunctory sniff of the air betrayed no familiarity in that scent, either. Hey! That's our food! she declared, puffing up with indignation.

But even compared to a doberman, Alyx was still puny and presented almost no real threat.

Alyx had wandered off, and upon realizing this, Phox thought it best to track her down. He wasn't in any huge rush, seeing as she was getting older, and he tended to give the kids more freedom than he should have. However, when he heard a distant shout that seemed strained, Phox picked up the pace and burst onto the scene. Not only did he find his little wolverine face-to-face with an intruder, said intruder was also going through their food stores. This would not end well for them.

The Redhawk planted himself between Alyx and the strange, wolf-like creature, his teeth bared and his half-scarred face surely putting on a menacing show. His tail was bushy and raised, the silvery hairs on his back pricked upright, and Phox growled fiercely at the stranger. He didn't need words to make his point clear. One warning was all this thief would get.

As she contorted and pulled at the pheasant's body she could feel the broken neck twisting in her teeth, the spinal column loose and occasionally grinding where fragments caught against fragments; she felt it through her fangs, and it reminded her of playing tug-o-war, except the ground wouldn't let her have the prize. It was still hard-packed around the breast of the dead bird and Blackheart would need to break away those layers to get at it. She did not want to relinquish the bird's neck just yet - the flavor of the dusty feathers and consistency of the stiff skin reminded her of jerky, and her belly groaned again. Her mouth was full of saliva. One more big pull and maybe she could free at least part of the creature from its pit...

Hey! A voice sprang forth, startling Blackheart in to gripping the bird's neck tight enough to cut in to the tough flesh. Her tail went straight up while her withers stiffened, except she was already trembling as the stranger approached - she was in a mind fog for a few seconds and missed what the not-dog was saying; until their tone became sharper and they began to show displeasure: Hey! That's our food!

Blackheart knew she should not be here stealing from this person, but she was starving, and she thought herself fast enough even with her inherent weakness to escape with something - but there came another body, answering to the raised voice of the girl - and as soon as Blackheart saw the scarred black creature with its shiny teeth and heard its snarling, she let the pheasant drop to the dirt again. Better not to take her chances with two sets of teeth.

So, she tried to bolt. She backed off a few paces and then spun and tried to launch herself in to a run, getting a few feet away before pausing to catch her breath. The taste of the pheasant was still there upon her tongue and it hurt to feel the flavor diminish; but she could not go back and try again, and she knew that. After pacing for a few moments among the trees she took off again - this time slipping through the dark of the woods and heading north.

She didn't know why, but seeing that strange-looking wolf hoisting food from a Firebirds cache set Alyx's teeth on edge. Stiff hairs prickled unconsciously along her back when the dog looked at her and didn't immediately drop the food. Maybe it was because Blackheart wasn't actually a wolf or maybe it was because Alyx was more opposed to outsiders ignoring their borders than she thought she was. Whatever the case, her voice was lined with sharp ice when she sucked in a breath and said, HE—

Thudding paws and a throaty growl announced Phox, who appeared in front of Alyx so suddenly that she started. She sank instinctively back from him, both because his display was especially fierce and because she suspected she was going to be in huge shit for being here. Blackheart seemed to feel the same way; the dog dropped the pheasant and fled, leaving Alyx to press her ears down and cower behind her father while she awaited a scolding.

She wondered if they should reinforce the cache, but held her tongue for now.

For a moment, Phox thought the creature might turn around and come back for round two. That would not have gone over well, and it was smart to decide to keep on running rather than pause for any longer.

Alyx would receive no scolding today. Once the beast retreated, and Phox was sure that it would not return, he softened his gaze and his stance, and he looked to his daughter. -Are you okay? Did it hurt you?- he asked, checking her over for any immediate signs of injury. He didn't see anything, but he knew that injuries could be invisible on the outside while being rather painful internally. Raven had taught him that much about healing.

Alyx thought she saw the not-wolf hesitate, as if it meant to come back, but then it kept right on running. She felt relieved. The last thing she wanted was to watch her father have to duke it out with some mutant wolf thing over food. In hindsight, her approaching and yelling at it was pretty stupid of her.

She expected Phox to say the same thing when he turned to look at her, but all he had was a question. No, she affirmed, jus’ tried to eat our food. The pheasant remained where Blackheart dropped it. Alyx cast it a long look, then asked, we should re-bury it, right? An’ maybe check the other… um. She frowned, lost in thought, then added, whatchamajiggits?

And, upon deciphering what a whatchamajiggit was, the pair decided to relocate the pheasant and look in on the other nearby caches to ensure Blackheart hadn't visited those first.