A doe in Stag Glade. She had told Verraton that, and the awkward silence between them made it clear that her rare joke had been dismissed. Though she was hardly a deer, no, those were noble creatures. Pure creatures. Tasty creatures.
They were harder to find now, though, even with the snow to make their tracks easier to find. In the woods, Faelenthir would have liked to think she would have had more cover. Perhaps sneak upon them, letting her coat disguise her until she could strike. But then, in a better world, she wouldn't have been so small, so...distressingly bad at capturing anything larger than a mouse. She was glad to be out searching for Verraton's ingredients so that her stomach wouldn't growl in his presence; she really, really didn't want to handle a jeer or bring attention to her poor hunting skills.
Today, some distant god decided to pity her: the she-wolf eventually came across half a carcass of a hare, perhaps something the birds had taken to the skies to fight over. "Be quick," she muttered to herself as she leaned her head down to pick it up by its less damaged leg. "Not here, not in the open. Bring it back. No, not so back. He might take it from you, and then what? Close, then."
⎿ faelenthir :: 220 words ⏋
