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The afternoon sun hung lazily overhead, beaming down benevolently over this northeastern patch of the swamp, where the mangroves cleared slightly and it had more reach. Not that Edge was paying much attention to the sun. She was much more concerned with the ground, drier in the north but newly whet by the morning rain, specifically a set of small cloven tracks that sunk deeper into the ground than a lightweight creature should. Boar tracks.

Not long after she'd picked up the trail, Edge found their originator, it's head buried in a fallen log, sifting through the dirt unearthing eating the insects that were reemerging after the rain. She shifted into a crouch, moving softly through the underbrush trying to approach from downwind of the boar, but the wind was not with her today. The tracks had led her in upwind of it, and the boar's head raised, eyes locking on her. With a hiss of disappointment, Edge rushed in, trying to maintain the advantage of surprise, the boar bolting away a split second later.

Now a chase was far from ideal, Edge preferred the ambush, but she had trained for this too and she was faster than the boar. She was closing distance already, she'd eventually catch up completely and then it'd be a matter of strength- or at least that was how it was supposed to go, until her meal suddenly tripped to the side, squealing wildly as it tumbled into... the ground itself?

No, not the ground. As Edge drew closer, she realized what the boar had fallen into was some sort of huge sinkhole. The boar had probably tried to skirt around the edge of it, but as she tested with a hoof, the ground here was still slick from the rain. Peering down the steep slope of the hole, she saw the boar, or rather it's carcass, already festooned with crocodiles.

"Well, that's unfortunate," she commented with a scowl, but she wasn't talking about the fate of the poor boar. Now she'd have to find something else to eat.

((This is huuuuuge o.o Don't mirror lol, my OP's tend to get huge)

Heavy footfalls behind her announce that she has company, probably some kin attracted by the squeal of the boar, seeing as all the other prey had probably gone running at the sound. She ignores it, taking the moment to study the crocodile movements as they feed - the knowledge will come in handy the next time she turns to hunting them, but her thoughts are interrupted by the doe's demand - "Don't you know how to read?"

Edge's ears flick back at the tone, turning to cast a narrowed amber gaze at the approaching doe. She quickly sizes her up, noting the lack of horns, the sharpened back spines, and the strength in the doe's frame. The doe's attitude alone could probably hold its own in a fight, though, hostility in every step as she closed the distance between them, but Edge doesn't give a step despite the hostile doe's proximity, in fact she seems unperturbed by it. - "Well?"

Of course Edge had seen the signs carved into the trees and sometimes even the earth around the line she had crossed some time back. And of course, Edge had ignored them. Any fool could carve a symbol into a tree and call it hers - if kin actually heeded every symbol they read, nobody would be able to travel anywhere.

"You think this land is yours because you carved some symbols into a tree?" she asks in reply. Her doubtful tone and the arch of one brow makes it clear the question is rhetorical.

Edge has developed a practice of curbing her own snark until she can evaluate the temperament of whoever she's dealing with -- it's helped her on many an occasion, including getting her a tour of the borderlands -- but that is no longer necessary now. Something shifts in her eyes, like a fire finding new tinder, even as her demeanor seems to chill. She bats away the insult with a flick of her ear, unimpressed by the hot-headed doe's attempt to stoke her temper.

"Pity you couldn't put that on a tree," she sneers at the doe's claim. "And oh, was it your boar? I didn't see your symbols on it when I was running it down. Neither did the crocodiles."

Edge's eyes glint at the reaction she's stirred in the other doe-- it clearly didn't take much to get this one's goat. As the doe's lips draw back to bare her fangs, Edge's own lips curve into a smirk, her weight and stance shifting ever so slightly into a ready position in response to the threat. She doesn't bare her own fangs though, no she doesn't reveal her weapons before they are to be used.

"And I'd watch my temper if I were you," she replies, her sneer replaced by sardonic amusement that's echoed in the flick of her tail. "Respect is earned, and you won't win mine acting like a hot-headed fool."

Her brows raise slightly in near disbelief at the does change in demeanor, which though not terribly sudden, was certainly not where Edge was predicting this would go. Perhaps the doe had more fortitude than she first judged, since surely she hadn't been threatened out of her anger, but Edge knows it's not easy to swallow even a bit of one's pride -- why else would she so protect her own? -- and doesn't ask for any more acquiescence. As for herself, she shifts easily back to relaxation, confident that the doe is too proud to go back on her decision, though her next words catch Edge by surprise.

"What does me being pretty have to do with anything?" She asks, her tone matter-of-fact, her gaze skeptical. What might have been a compliment to another doe has no effect on her - she's never given a damn about her appearance.

Again with the "my lands" spiel. Edge had to bite her tongue on that note and remind herself to bring up her personal views of it later, for the sake of getting her question answered first. And then that answer came: the territorial doe was butch, hence the "pretty" comment. Edge would never have guessed it, but it made sense now that it came to light, the deeper voice, perhaps even the aggression. But what a shame, that finesse with those back spines and motherfather those teeth, it was a shame for this particular doe to be looking only at the ladies.

She shook her head. "What a waste."

"A waste of your spines, your teeth, perhaps your finesse," Edge replies, vocalizing her train of thought, "Our kin could use traits like those, but you won't be passing them on with other does." Her tone is purely pragmatic, thinking of a sorry future without sharp-spined kin or sharp-toothed ones. It was lost in their earlier hostility, but Edge, though too happy with her own capabilities to be envious, very much approves of these traits.

Edge's ears flick up slightly at the doe's chuckle, particularly in the fact that there is no defensiveness to it, sensing there may yet be hope for sharpspined fanged kimeti, and she is not disappointed. Her eyes gleam approvingly at the doe's words, her lips curving into her characteristic grin - small and self-assured, but not quite a smirk. She makes a mental note to inquire if the doe has any sons at some point in the future, if the conversation continued so pleasantly.

"Well then, I stand corrected," she admits not at all grudgingly, "I prefer the boys myself though, I never cared much for the pretty."