What a wicked game
Shafts of sun punched hazily through the branches above, making stripes over the patchwork ground and her paws that splayed out in front of her. All about her was the sharp, slumber-heavy scents of autumn. And there was hunger- hunger than burned and gnawed at her gut. It was an insatiable master, driven mad with the promise of colder weather and fewer meals in the nearing months. She had long since finished picking at the tiny bones of her last catch.
Eventually, Saba stretched out of the undergrowth and shook out the twigs and pine needles that clung to her. Perhaps a drink of the cool water would soothe her stomach, she thought. If only temporarily. It was possible, at least, that it might refresh her foul mood.
It was not a someone that was to blame for her sour temper lately, but rather her current lifestyle. Her sable coat was looking a shade dreary these days without proper nutrition. Upon closer examination, the curve of her ribs were becoming visible and her hips appeared more prominent than before. It’s not that she was a stranger to struggle; Saba was well acquainted with hunger and harsh living conditions in fact. But she was hardly completely alone before, and though she much preferred this solitude over small talk, she often wondered if she’d been wrong to scoff at wolves that banded together. She didn’t usually entertain the idea for long, however. Both because admitting she was wrong was not a favorite pastime of hers, and because she mostly enjoyed being a recluse. Mostly.
And so when the breeze lifted the scent of another body to her nose, she took very deliberate trotting steps towards the water. She would lap up a satisfying amount of liquid and leave. At least, those were her intentions. Saba picked her way over the worn path, turning dried leaves over with her paws, and down the slope to where the water pooled. Her dark eyes were set only on the water but her ears tracked the quiet movement of another’s steps.
Saba