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Volkarosh was never late for a hunt, though of course her sense of time was permanently on 'wilderness time' which meant that, technically, the girl was never late for anything in her mind.

She and Arron were getting along just as if they'd never been apart - that they were brother and sister and close as anything was very clear. It was harder for her to get used to the idea of parents - or a guardian figure in general that she didn't also have to take care of like an animals keeper. Ruelash had given her what love he was capable of giving (which was more than people apparently expected of him), and he'd raised her well, but he wasn't a parent.

Volka was getting used to them, but there were times when she wasn't sure what to make of the woman who had given birth to her or the man who had sired her. She intended to clear that up as soon as possible because if there was one thing that didn't belong in Volkarosh's world it was uncertainty.

And here was a chance for it. "Mom." she greeted. She was kitted out, knives at her side, a small quiver at her back, and a handmade bow in her hands. "What are we hunting Today?"

A ghost of a smile lit across Volka's face, a slight smirk that showed appreciation or approval for her mother's behavior towards the man. Possibly both. "I take it you only smashed his head into the countertop once." she commented slyly.

Sometimes it seemed that Iroia was very much like Lashy after all. He wouldn't have known what to do with such a, ah... situation... but he'd have made up for it with smashing people into tables, to be certain. Possibly stabbing them. Yet, she was not Lashy. Volkarosh had to remember this.

"Respect for sharp objects is sensible." she agreed. "So, we don't know what we're hunting, but we are hunting something or other... That means that no matter what we find, we will not be disappointed."

And that stopped you? Not that Volka was surprised, of course. Why continue hurting someone when they could not fight back? That would take the point out of it. Lashy liked it though.

"... I don't think that Lashy..." she stopped, biting back her revelation. She had no evidence to back up the fact that Lashy didn't have the kind of feelings to love like her mother and father (very obviously) did, and it seemed like something she shouldn't actually bring up. "... strange brother is very... spot on." she amended, nodding. Actually, he was more like a half-feral guardian pet. She'd had to take care of him almost as much as he'd had to take care of her.

Volkarosh looked over her mother's shoulder at the ground and ahead at the cover around them. Visibility was low, but it was managable. She wasn't sure in this endless dusk-light if the dainty depressions she saw were tracks, but - over there -...

"Mother, those scratches on the bark over there..." she pointed at the base of a massive tree ringed with fungus. Parallel scratches at it's base glowed with sticky, fresh sap as the tree tried to heal itself. "That is unusual, isn't it?" Bugs, Ruelash had told her when they'd got there, usually did their thing in the trees, so you had to hunt them with stones, arrows, or a lot of careful climbing and jumping. Bugs that marked up living wood like this, she had learned from observation, usually were higher up in the trees.

She stalked closer to it for a better look. "They're too narrow and deep to be radaku." she observed, looking at her mother for confirmation.

Volkarosh smiled quietly, pleased that Iroia approved. The smile soon vanished into an expression of steely intensity - she was a hunter and there was prey. "Probably." Volka agreed - if the marks were made with claws, then it probably could climb. "I'll keep looking on the ground." she said, moving on to the next sign, and the next, and... ah. Marks pocked the thick bark of the tree, different - again - from the usual fare (but also from the marks of before? Hmm. But really, how many strange foreign beasts could be roaming this part of the jungle at the same time? It had to be the same one.)

"Mother, it climbed." she called, looking up into the darkness of the tree's branches. And, with that, she set to climbing - It couldn't have gone far.

Lashy had tried to tell her something once - that when he was making a kill, he felt like he was on fire. In a good way, he'd added - words were not his strong suit. He felt, he amended, 'really, really alive'. Volkarosh hadn't understood what he meant until now.

At the sound of her name, shrieked with such feral fury from her mother's mouth, Volkarosh felt electrified. Everything began to happen fast - she climbed the tree and leapt along the branches, her eyes quickly registering the Perzi's shape, trajectory, and her mother barrelling after it.

Soon, she too was giving chase.

Fast, yes, but not too fast. Volkarosh was, as always, in control of things. Not overwhelmed, not confused.

But for the first time, she was having fun. "I'm going ahead!" she cried, taking a detour towards someplace stable where she could use her bow effectively. In a straight line, she could match neither of them in speed, so effective range would be key.

Volkarosh was used to rocks and ice, not branches, but she had learned their ways well enough to find a suitable crook in the branches that would keep her stable. From here, her keen eyes could see many potential routes and clear shots to all of them. She drew her bow and nocked it, whistling to her mother to let her know where she was. She drew back the bow, checked various points of entry, and waited...

THERE

She could see it now, a feline with glittering crystal spikes. She aimed and loosed her bow, drawing another arrow at the ready, aiming, and loosing again in case she missed the first time.

The first shot missed, the second shot clanked against one of the crystal spikes, causing the creature to lose it's balance for a moment, it's claws skittering against the branch as it frantically tried to keep on top.

She fired, aiming in front of it to discourage it's running. The arrow sank into the wood in front of it's paws, and it skidded to a halt, seeking another escape route. She drew her bow again to fire, her next shot sure to hit...

Volkarosh tracked them with her bow and aimed, feeling her mouth go dry at the sight of the mauling. She knew, though, that she could not waver. She could not falter.

Instead, she released and let the arrow fly. She prayed, though she knew not to what, that her arrow would find it's mark and not her mother.

Her prayers were answered as the arrow bore into the spaces between the crystals of the creature's hide, through the parchment-like skin, and into it's vitals. It cried out, shivered and fell twitching to the ground.

Volkarosh allowed herself a single, stunned, proud moment before she moved to the injured huntress. "Mother." she said, the word sounding, still, far too formal in her mouth, "Are you all right?"