henna, marked in strange patterns that do actually match her to the forest floor here, moves amongst the leaf litter and smattering of snow at a slow but deliberate trot. her mouth is full of muskrat, her ears flattened to the sides in discomfort; she did not like being exposed while carrying her meal, and who would?

since her run in with the strange-speaking male, she has been careful not to be too enamored with those things around her lest she forget she was in a strange place. she is keen and on her toes, however, so much that sleeping little has left her eyes a little dull and her movements sluggish. there was a reason for the meal of muskrat instead of hare, or even quail. how she missed that treat -- quail. little plump bird, soft flesh, fun plucking feathers.

but muskrat it was.

she finds a larger clearing than her last one, more interested in being able to see more around her with the thickened thicket that ringed it than feeling cozy in the cold, and at the center, she lays among the fallen deciduous canopy under the protection of the coniferous portion. broken light of late morning coming through the hanging needles, thumps of snow falling from branches, she lays down and opens the bowels of her meal in a quick chomp and tug.