She moved on paws of dirtied flames, like a white wolf had brushed with a charred forest. She was not with her children on this day, for she had left them in the den with the violet eyed girl- a girl large enough and to be trusted. She had just killed a beaver, a decently sized creature with an odd tail. She had consumed a large bit of it herself, and it was ripped open and apart as she held onto it tight. She would perhaps save it for later, stuff it into her den and hide it away. She moves quickly, moving along paths that would hide her best. With her stomach full, she was content, not feeling the rage of hunger within her. It meant that life was good, her instincts of a mother fulfilled to some extent, although always longing for what is no lifeless.

Her lava filled orbs are tuned into movement, and she finds herself freezing, crouching to the ground and among the tall grasses as she slowly peeks her head up to see what might be off in the distance. It was something small and black, shaped as wolf and her mind immediately assumed it was of her own flesh, wandering off from the den as the little dark often did. She lifts her flame touched form, making long elegant strides towards the young pup as it squishes the insect upon the rock. She was unphased by such a thing, not stopping to the spot of death as she followed the path of the dark pup towards the body of large water nearby.

As he sits upon the sand, the fem come up behind him, realizing that the fur was not the same, that things were different and this was not of her flesh. The scent that managed to barely come through the beaver's scent told her this was not hers, and yet it is a youth, young and should not be alone as instinct tells her. She lowers the beaver to the ground perhaps a foot away from the pup, her maw leaning in, covered in blood, as she sniffs the pup. She snots, her air likely moving the fur upon his back. Her belly was swollen, smelling of milk as she takes a few steps around him, inspecting his face and features.

It does not matter if he is not of her flesh. Her instincts tell her to guard and protect this one, still stricken by hormones so strong. She licks her chops, allowing a short whine to escape her jaws in between licks as she then lowers her muzzle again, seeking to lick his muzzle and comfort the feeling of tension she thought she was receiving from him, wishing to calm and comfort him.

Her lava eyes were not exactly the most soothing sight. They were lined with dark soot, and any light seems to make her golden flecks glow. She knows not how she looks, knows not how others might see her. She is tuned to survive, and driven by instinct on these days to take the small flesh as her own. At times, when hunger consumed her, she finds other wolves' pups and fills her belly, but it is not every time, not every pup, and the beaver had given its life...perhaps, if she had found this young one first, he would be half eaten in her jaws. He is fortunate on this day, but the female of flame knew the shadow was never far behind, never too far and he will demand meat, will demand food, and she could only do so much to stop the shadow from getting exactly what he wants.