Shadewood Even though we know it, everyone remains in play.

Riley bent over the creek, his shoulders hunched. A wave of something — not quite nausea, possibly a brief throttling of the stomach — had passed over him seconds before. His mouth singed with the taste of bitter adrenaline.

After a few seconds, the sensation faded. He chalked it up to the cached hare he’d eaten the day before. It’d been risky eating in the first place — the meat had long soured, but Riley was loathe to let any expenditure of effort go to waste.

He bent to drink, but stopped as the loud clap of a beaver’s tail struck the water. He wondered if @Masquerade was nearby, and if she was in the mood for hunting with this warmer weather.

Her heat ceased, leaving Masquerade to look forward to the results in a few weeks’ time. While she waited, she couldn’t help but wonder if her sister had also come of age back on the rise. New Snow would have given birth by now—a realization that came with a small pang—but were nieces and nephews out there on the horizon?

The sound of something striking water startled her out of her thoughts. Masquerade paused and squinted, nostrils twitching. She caught her mate’s scent and hastened toward the nearby water, giving him an inquisitive glance when she arrived. Had he made that sound somehow?

Riley peered at the glittering water for a moment, deciding he wasn’t thirsty after all. Passing a glance over the far side of the creek, he saw a pair of scowling eyes staring back at him, half submerged in the water.

His ear cupped back as he heard Masque’s footsteps behind him; he recognized the footfall as her own due to the slight delay in the hind foot landing. Turning his head around, Riley gave a wave of his tail and then motioned to the bank with a hushed whisper. Beaver. Hungry?

She mulled his hushed question. Masquerade could almost always eat, though she did feel particularly famished, now that she was paying attention. She wondered if that was because she was still on the mend—her wound was officially closed, scabs soon transitioning into scars—or if this was an early sign of pregnancy.

There was no way to tell for certain, so Masque merely purled back, Sure am, as she slunk closer to her mate.

She flanked him and peered up- and downriver, trying to locate their quarry. When she managed that, she slanted her head toward Riley, bumping hers beneath his as she so often did. Her long tail swung, thumping gently against his right hip. Her gaze rested on his face, conveying the hope she didn’t dare mention out loud just yet.

Masque confirmed her hunger with a purl of her voice, pressing her head to his jaw as her tail beat gently against his hip. He nudged her in return, motioning with his head towards the beaver that watched them across the way.

Think we could catch it? He wondered if they could make a game of it — but with Masque’s injuries only freshly healed, it was best they play conservatively.

He hunkered down between the reeds, prepared to move. If she could startle the thing, maybe Riley could chase it down before it dived into the headwaters.

The beaver was looking right at them now, prompting her lips to pull into a slight frown as she admitted, Probably not.

But the Castor canadensis was hardly the only prey available to them. Masque’s tail switched thoughtfully as she tipped her red muzzle upward, scenting the air. Here near the water, the smells were particularly rich. As she sifted through them, a craving suddenly and powerfully hit.

I want pork, Masque practically moaned, thinking of the group that lived on the north side of the rise.

Riley’s ears cupped back as Masque moaned and turned her nose to the air, sampling the sundry scents that dotted the creek.

She wanted pork? Riley couldn’t hide the quirk of his lips. There was no pork here, but there was sausage…

He stopped mid-step, nosing a patch of trampled reed where the scent was particularly strong. He was never one to say no to his lady. Oh? Bacon for breakfast? That could be arranged.

Taking down boars was risky — but Riley was up for the challenge.

Yes, she concurred in the same lecherous tone she’d used so much lately. I’d kill for some rashers right now, she quipped in the very next breath, complete with a wiggle of her whiskered eyebrows.

With visions of gammon dancing in her head, she nudged her mate’s broad shoulder and turned away from the waterside. She glanced backward to snort at the staring beaver before she darted into Shadewood’s interior. She’d never come across the scent of wild pigs here, so Masque prepared herself for the possibility they may have to transcend their borders.

Indeed, the subtlest wisp of sows drew her south, where the woods narrowed into a lane of trees that fell underneath the shadow of Mount Everfall. Did swine prefer such landscapes? She thought of the rise again and barked to Riley, motioning toward the nearby peak.

We should investigate the foothills, she said to him right before bending to nose at her aching thigh.

With his shoulder nudged, Riley moved off. The beaver was given one last look — a longing one, perhaps, but for some reason Riley didn’t feel like getting wet today.

Well, not that kind of wet anyway.

His mate’s sultry tone drew a flirty smile from the male, who aimed another gentle nip at Masque’s good side as she stalked off towards the south. Come to think of it, Riley had never seen boar here; he sniffed the air inquisitively and fanned back and forth, canvassing the area and taking the brunt of the legwork to spare Masque any additional steps.

Oh - here. He nosed a patch that was particularly pungent, revealing older droppings between blades of stunted spring grass. Guess we’ll get to kill some rashers after all.

She knew she should take it easy, though they were just on—make that over—the cusp of locating prey. Masquerade swiftly bounded over to join Riley to assess the spoor nearer at hand, a little hobble in her step. Her long tail swished the air as she read the information contained in the scents, her mouth flooding with saliva.

I smell a new mother and more than a few suckling piglets, she huffed, raising her head to meet Riley’s eyes. I’m sure there’s a male around to protect them. But if we can even snag one piglet, I’ll take it…

Riley’s nose twitched inquisitively. The scent of suckling pig and milk clung to the inside of his nose and the roof of his mouth. He looked to Masque as she confirmed the scents, expression hopeful.

Piggen nuggets sounds good. Riley quipped, turning around to continue their search. The trail was long and convoluted, but it followed a deer path — and eventually he and Masque limped upon a clearing where in the distance, they heard low squeals.

Riley’s gilded gaze turned to Masque. Ready? He bit back the temptation to urge her to be careful; neither one of them could afford another injury.

She snorted at her mate’s play on words. It was not the time nor the place for it, though she suddenly wondered: would Riley call their children all sorts of ridiculous nicknames? Would she? What proper names would they give them? Masque still hoped for boys, though she supposed they ought to choose names that would suit either sex…

He’d prowled far enough ahead that she shook her head, emptying it as she raced to catch up with him. A secret smile curved her mouth as she bumped her shoulder lightly against his. She said nothing, turning her focus toward stealth, the craft she’d honed as a youth on the rise.

She met Riley’s question with a nod. She was more than ready to sink her teeth into some suckling pig. First, they needed to get eyes on the sounder, particularly the boar. One of them needed to create a distraction to draw his attention, Masque decided.

She licked her nose and caught Riley’s eye, then whispered, Once we locate the boar, why don’t you reveal yourself, try to get him to chase you a bit? Then I can try to scoop one of the piglets. Usually there’s enough of them that the sows can’t possibly protect them all…

She would’ve loved to take the role and let Riley do the killing, though Masquerade shuddered to think of what might happen if her injury slowed her down enough to let the boar catch up to her.

Riley missed the smile on Masque’s face, but he did feel her shoulder bump and looked back with an anticipatory grin. While her mind had been on the very serious topic of the naming of puppies (spoiler alert: yes, there will be ridiculous names), Riley’s mind had been on food and the act that serves as progenitor of puppies.

He turned an ear to her whisper. A solid game plan, affording that she could not get hurt.

Squeals to their left sounded. Riley nodded and army crawled forward, every sense on high alert. A skittering of leaves ahead suggested the group was close — and somewhere to his left again came the long scrape of nose against damp forest soil.

He inched forward another couple of feet, his pelt prime camouflage. Rustling several yards away told him they were close — but Riley had yet to see the boar.

Ever since her youth, Masquerade had been practicing and perfecting the art of stalking. She prided herself on her nearly silent passage as she crept through the undergrowth just slightly behind her mate. Riley’s prowling prowess matched her own and she felt a flush of pride, soon after followed by a gnawing sensation deep in her gut.

This was why it was always a bad idea to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach. But Masque refused to heed its demands or let it press her patience. With measured steps and careful breaths, she inched forward until she could get her eyes on the prize.

The first thing that caught her attention was the sow with what looked like nearly a dozen babes suckling at her flabby teats. The huntress watched this in fascinated disgust for a moment, wondering if she would look so wretched when she fed her pups. Masque made a note never to nurse while standing.

Her eyes cut sideways, taking in at least two other sows—one heavily pregnant, by the look of her—and, furthest away from their current position, the boar. Masque felt some measure of relief when he appeared to be graying around his head. Hopefully that meant he was a little older, a little slower.

Masque crept forward on expertly silent limbs; there was no time for Riley to marvel the prowess of his hunter-wife, but his gaze swept over her in silent awe as the pair came closer to their prospective meal.

There were several. A sow was closest, her children obliviously suckling against her distended belly. Nearby two other sows rooted in the damp earth — and a boar watched over them, his face thinned and grey with age.

Riley shared one look with Masque to confirm she was ready before he burst toward at a long swinging lope. The boar froze and then bolted — he could hear the scattering of other hooves behind him, but Riley targeted the boar with a low growl, aiming for the fat hocks of the round creature.

For a brief while, the pair of hunters observed the wild pigs in silence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Masquerade awaited her mate’s cue, nodding her head once to indicate her readiness. She ignored the slight twinge in her thigh as she coiled her haunches, preparing to spring.

After he took off after the boar, Masque couldn’t afford to track Riley’s movements. She leaped toward the suckling sow, who was already ushering her gaggle of piglets out of the wolves’ path. The other two sows closed in to form a circle with the youngsters herded into the space between their hammy hocks.

Masque had been betting on the sheer number working in her favor. Two or three of the piglets scrambled in random directions rather than allowing themselves to be shepherded to safety. Without thinking, she leaped after one headed in roughly the same direction Riley had gone, snatching it by the back of the neck.

It was an unwieldy load, to be certain, yet Masquerade did not pause, lest the mother or one of her cohorts chase after her. The she-wolf dragged the squealing, squirming piglet into the brush as quickly as she could. Her fangs pressed deep, strangling the life out of the babe even as she jogged through the underbrush. She picked up the pace slightly once it went limp in her grasp.

When she’d put enough distance between herself and the sounder, Masque unceremoniously slung the bloody carcass to the ground. She panted for a moment, then sent up a note to let her mate know her location.

hammy hocks lol

Squeals behind announced Masquerade's success. She must have bagged one when they all scattered -- but Riley did not have time to congratulate her.

A black shape, impossibly fast, turned around towards him. Riley realized his mistake too late -- the boar was huge, and fast, and powerful -- how such hammy-hocks collected under the beast in so quick a timeframe was a mystery to Riley.

The boar slashed with its tusks and caught Riley's hip. He was sent flying with a grunt -- as he scrambled for footing he heard the patter of the boar's impossibly huge legs behind him. He managed to get up in the nick of time, but the boar's second slash caught his dock.

Two fresh welts appeared on Riley as he ran, an ominous merlot bloom appearing under his fur. He followed Masque's trail out of breath, relieved to hear the boar had lost interest and pulled away.

Masque's howl allowed him to locate her in short order -- he came up at a loose trot, favoring his hind leg.

She felt a little guilty as she bent to tear into the meat before her mate had a chance to join her. When he showed up with fresh wounds, her stomach practically curdled. Not even bothering to clean the blood off her chops, she swung to nose at him. Her marigold eyes quickly darted to each of his injuries, full of assessing concern.

For the first time since running off toward the horizon, Masquerade felt her insides clench with real, sickening fear. They were both injured now. What if they couldn’t hunt? There was nobody else around to support them. Never mind her pregnancy, the two of them might starve to death before any new life could take.

We fucked around and found out, she muttered darkly under her breath. I should clean these. Are you ready? she queried in a slightly louder voice, complete with a slight tremor.

The slain piglet cooled in the backdrop, entirely forgotten. Quite frankly, Masque wasn’t sure she could eat any more, not with these terrifying possibilities swirling around in her brain.

Riley joined with a low wag of his tail, brushing his muzzle to his mate’s bloodied one. It’s just a scratch. He murmured, indicating to the pig: Nice catch.

The extent of his injury had yet to settle in. Riley propped to his good hip gingerly, hating the idea of ministration but understanding it was necessary. Between a set of grit teeth, Riley reached for the remainder of the piglet. Might as well be efficient. Alright, I guess we better get to it.

You eat while I clean, Masquerade said in a perfunctory tone, setting about her task.

She cleaned the wound with as much care and thoroughness as she could, then sat back to give it a visual inspection. Her mouth tasted sour, not only with her mate’s blood but the implications of such a wound. Even a minor injury could majorly impact the two of them.

We need to be more careful, Masque murmured, almost as if to herself. We have to look out for ourselves, she said a little more loudly, catching Riley’s eye, for them.

And now she was starkly aware of their vulnerability as a duo. Even one more able-bodied adult could mean the difference between life and death, in the event of an illness or injury. Masquerade felt humbled by this realization and folded to the ground beside Riley, leaning lightly into him.

She didn’t touch the kill. She’d officially lost her taste for pork.

Guilt washed over Riley once he saw the way Masque’s expression soured. He winced as she set to work, a deep sigh expanding his rib cage. I know, I’m sorry.

He’d gotten carried away in the heat of the moment. She was right, as she always was — this injury put both their lives in jeopardy.

Riley never once regretted their decision to leave the rise, but today he worried for their future. And the future of their children.

He brought his head to hers to butt her gently with his forehead. We will be alright. They will be alright. When she was done cleaning Riley stood up with a shake, noticing Masque could not bring herself to eat the porkling. Riley would deposit it in their cache, a new worry for Masque settling malignantly in his stomach.