The Bracken Woods oh, black lung, you're back

She thought she'd gotten away with it. He ate alone, supping on the warm flesh of the bird he'd caught himself. It was a better meal than the one she'd pilfered for herself.

The pelt had no use so far as she could tell. What good was the skin of a dead animal? Indra had never heard of such a thing. Colt was trying to egg her on, she presumed. What for? She didn't expect an answer.

A small huff comes from her. Seeing as he's got his own food, these remains are useless to her. She throws them aside and settles, to clean herself. There is a certain limited bravado to her now; prideful over her assumed power.