The songbird had her burdens and her worries, but released them now. She was freest when she ran. There was a point when the songbird did not desire that freedom, but that was a time she could not recall. A time when she had found love, and desired to stay. But in not knowing of those times, she could not imagine the tether to any but pack, and for the pack she would wander and do what she could. The Caldera wanted to clip her wings—understandably, given the bear incident, but!!!—and she could not stand it for very long. Here she was, now. Nothing bad, she hoped, would come of her escape from there. Escape was perhaps too extreme a word, but it fit.

The breathless songbird smirked as the other responded gamely. Her ears swiveled forward as she watched and listened, and nodded in exuberant, ecstatic approval.  Right! She responded, grinning ear to ear. Another perfect distraction; she had forgotten everything, really, but now she could think that in earnest. Even all she remembered was released for the moment, and the songbird felt an immense amount of pressure off of her shoulders in releasing her will—

As he moved forward, a veritable knight with his jousting stick, Nightingale surged after him willfully. His bellow was answered by a resounding  BOO!!! That echoed throughout the little clearing they had found. She was laughing too hard to be truly frightening to the 'yotes, but they were still wary of the teeth she revealed in the cackle, her tail beating at her sides now. As they scattered, Nightingale bounded after them to nip at their heels.  This is ours now! Came her decree to the coyotes, who looked at her and yipped shrilly. The songbird answered in kind, pausing only when she looked at one with a single eye, an eye that in this light, looked green... hauntingly familiar... but the creature bolted at her stare, and Nightingale came to, giving very little chase to it and laughing again.

She turned 'round and trotted excitedly to the large wolf, panting from the good, fun effort that she had put in. Her tail waved freely, and Nightingale gestured grandly toward their quarry.  After you, defender of the... thing... She didn't know the specific name of it, it didn't come right to mind, but it looked and smelled better than any prey she had seen in a while. The tawny wolf looked back to the other, smiling at their little victory, not wise at all to the fact that she was—or had been—admired by the other. The stranger before her was very grand in appearance, but the she-wolf was committed to a man that did not exist, a man she would search the ends of the earth for before she gave her heart elsewhere. There was, of course, no denying that this stranger was handsome; she could not, in appearance, detect his age, and so he was as good as an equal to the agouti woman who now moved beside him, to join him.

In no time at all, the duo managed to peel the wily coyotes away from what was now their dinner. Or lunch. Or late night snack. The fog and the chill made it hard to detect a legitimate hour, and she could scarcely see a shadow in the shroud. The figures of the coyotes faded into nothingness as they darted off, disappointed and offended all at once. Her jaws closed shut with an audible click, her own goop of saliva bursting in the process. She hmph'd at the retreated backsides of the critters before she returned her attentions to the other.

His whooping and cajoling were two things she already liked about the male; he knew how to have fun, to be free! He accepted the proposition of it wordlessly, and it endeared her to him. Nightingale had already decided he was her friend, whether he liked it or not. His chirping was met with a wag of her own thickly furred plume, and she smirked. Fun could be my middle name, she said with a grin, and laughed. The funny part of it was that it truly could be, and she'd be nonethewiser. She had only been given the name Nightingale back; she hadn't thought to ask of others, if others were even a thing. As he went to take a bite of the thing, Nightingale observed him. She knew it wasn't poisonous or anything as the coyotes were perfectly fine, so she was alright with his sampling of it.

And he seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. Nightingale hustled beside him, not very mindful of personal space as she began to take some hearty chomps of the meat herself. She peeled a small chunk away with her incisors and gobbled it down, a positively delighted look appearing upon her face. Blood matted her lips, and the songbird whispered, Woahhh, before turning back to it and taking another bite. That was not telling at all, so she withdrew and looked to him and said, I'm not sure. The great horned thing, I will call it. And its true; its antlers were greater than the tines of a buck. Were those antlers? Were those horns...? She moved around to observe them, licking at the felt tip. The texture was similar to the base of bucks antlers but... different, too, kind of like... moss. She looked to him, head tilted.

At his coughing fit, she withdrew and looked at him with concern. Nightingale was no medic but there was no way she would let him choke to death. She'd try her hand at it for his sake. No way in hell was her newest friend going to die, not on her watch! But when he managed to get it all down, Nightingale turned back and resumed carnage. Stripping away the fur from the meaty bits she could eat, she chomped away happily at it 'til her curiosity had her moving toward the antlers.

The songbird continued her gentle gnawing, her bite very much so controlled as she teethed at it. As he mentioned the feet, she looked to the cloven-footed thing. Massive; much more massive than that of what must be their cousin due to the shape. They were the wolves to the coyotes called deer. At his revelation she blinked and looked again, and then nodded; evidently she agreed. Brt rt hrs— she paused, withdrawing from the antler she had spoken past, and began again: Bet it has a mighty kick! Her eyes widened at the thought. The kick of any member of a herd they chased could be fatal if it hit the head. But this beast could probably break a leg with a kick, never mind kick-you-dead in the head! She grimaced. She again had to agree; lucky them, indeed. They had found a free, warm meal that would have taken a lot of work to put down. Two wolves definitely could not have done it in a day.

Also The Great Horned Thing, believe it or not, she responded with a snicker. Some call me the great furry thing... but most call me Nightingale. Her tail waved and she joined him in his gnawing, this time doing so spiritedly. She had forgotten her manners, and she withdrew sharply: Nice t'meetya, Alek! And fell back to the mind-numbing, pleasant task.

His query was an amusing one. Something she would probably ask, too. And so to make him not feel so badly, the songbird shook her head. No; for a breeze in the night, but opposite, and without the. Nightingale. She grinned, ears twitching atop her head. His name would not be so difficult to remember, though his own individual scent would be the best thing she could remember by. He smelled of the untamed wild, a place faraway from here... and yet, at the same time, familiar. Pines and recent snowfall and a dull, empty scent, too, that had a name but that she could not think of. The empty scent was truly a full one; there was no describing it properly, except in knowing that it was there and everywhere, and could not be identified in passing. Distinguishable but untrackable. Water, perhaps. A hint of it.

His next question was answered with a tilt of her head and then, she nodded. Hearthwood River, it's called, she informed, watching him dig into the meal again. She half wanted to do so herself, but she was very much so content in pulling at the velvety antlers, leaving slight grooves in them. These were undoubtedly the best antlers she'd ever chewed upon; and she decided she wanted more of them, that she might even collect them to do this mind-numbing task of chewing them. It was stimulating and yet the entire opposite simultaneously; her mind raced and slowed, a contradiction.

How about you? The songbird asked, now wanting to join him in the meal again. In Winter, she knew food was hard to come by; she had plans to bring this back to the pack, to assist with her newfound desire of becoming the packs hunter. Even if she could bring a sliver of it to cache, it would be enough. But in the meantime she would partake, playfully nipping him aside before shoving her muzzle into the same belly as him, nearly brushing noses with him as she pulled out the things liver, amazed the 'yotes had yet to get to this. The prized piece! And to obtain one as a lone—no, she was in a pack now. The songbird began to chew at it, a string of saliva oozing ever-downward until it broke entirely as she tossed her head upward and threw it in the air, bounding upward to catch it. Of course, now it was fair game for her companion, too; that had been the point of the ever-fair songbird, who would live and die by the rules of the wild but who displayed her heart nonetheless.

There was no competition for the liver, which she chomped midair and swallowed {almost} whole, grinning widely. She was quite pleased at her success, even if the other hadn't put in any effort. The songbird watched him, noted the bloody-string that fell from his own jaw and nearly went for it herself. She was a wolf, after all. Other peoples saliva fascinated the lot of them for some unknowable reason, but Nightingale was weak to that pull! Still, he managed to speak in time to distract her from her next intent, and at his excitement, she grew excited. Particularly when he revealed why. She felt quite pleased with what he had said, and it showed; she bent in a playbow and yipped, springing upward to nip at him. She was not mindful of personal space; the songbird moved to sniff at him and, yes! There was that scent she was coming to know! A part of them both. Her tail waved rapidly, a hazard and quite near her friendshine's face as she sniffed at his tuckus before lunging away and grinning: it all checked out.

Let's tear this guy apart and bring some home then! She suggested, knowing it would be imossible to take the whole big thing of it. It was too massive and would take all energy to take it, even with the two of them. Better to take the good bits back with them. It'd be cool if we could find a whole herd of these guys. We have their scent. And it looks like they're close, given the fallen one... but the weather was too hard to really work with; the fog and the frozen earth made the world dryer and more difficult to suss things out. Maybe we could track them sometime? She suggested this with a tilt of her head, and then lurched near him playfully before falling upon the moose and tearing at a meaty thigh. Nightingale thought they might as well begin working on bringing some of it home, and began the process.