As his muzzle konked into her head, her own muzzle went violently in the same direction without intent, potentially leading to an accidental muzzlebut (like a headbutt, but not so terrible). She wheeled backward with a snort, but if they made contact it would not have bothered her at all; she still grinned and waved her thick plume. Nothing could upset the songbird this evening, she felt. Here was an instant where the turmoil of her own expectations came at a standstill, where the thoughts of her search—for her dreams, for herself, for everything—were shelved for a time. For now there was no guilt; who she might be was a heavy weight upon her shoulders. She had been told Nightingale but it could only be so horrible if she had always been, and always intended to be, the songbird of the Caldera. Her loyalty, promised always to them... she could not abandon them, either, not if she had always been there, not if she had not been chased off. But these complications were not at all there for the long while, and she sucked in a deep breath of air.


His next words were met with a pleased grin, happy to have done such a thing. They were on the same wavelength; the songbird had already decided him a friend, but she felt as thick as thieves with the wolf she had just met. She suspected the Hearthwood would be glad for the two of them. Even if her stay was intended to be temporary, she felt as though she and Alek could contribute plenty. More than expected, certainly. Beginning with The Great Horned Thing's meaty thighs. They'd walk away from this with two massive thighs swinging from their mouths. The turkey leg of the wolf world, but even greater.


As she tore at tendon and muscle and flesh, she withdrew to acknowledge him, her eyes glowing. That is the best idea ever. You think we could do that? We'll have to track them, came her bloody-lipped and eager response. ...Let's bring this bad boy home and see what we can find, tracking wise. But you can bet your butt when we find 'em, that's happening. We will find them. We will kill them. And we will eat them. Said Liam Neeson the tawny woman, whose newfound ambitions to become Hunter herself had come to light in this very inspiring incident. After she said her final piece, she began having her own tug-o-war battle, trying to rip leg from body once the victory of such a thing seemed possible. She shook her head and snarled, stretching the skin to its final limits; soon it would rip and tear, and the leg would be hers.

His jaws worked like scissor, shearing through all sorts of flesh and tissue, leaving his lips and his chest bloodied with the work of pulling the meaty thighs from the Great Horned Thing. His tail wagged as he worked, grumbling and growling into the thick hide of the large herbivore, taking an almost childish glee from partaking in such a messy task; there was no such thing as being too dirty, right?

This would not have been an enjoyable task if Aleksei were here all alone -- Kite was eudemonc to this entire moment, though the yearling hadn't yet had the thought strike him. The fact that she might not stay within Kingsfall, under his parents' rule, forever also did not cross his mind. In this moment, there was no chance for their relationship -- friendship! -- to end with sadness, or grieving for a lost companion. It could be considered naive to have such optimistic thoughts, sure, but seeing as Alek's life had been pessimistic up until this point, he deserved a chance to think things could remain peachy.

Poor boy ...

He raised his princely crown, fangs leaving the body of the not-identified-as-moose, and grinned delightedly. He was glad that Nightingale liked his idea! "Of course we can," came his response, eager and reassuring, "we can do anything if we stick together, right? I mean, like ... uh, you know, work with my family too." He couldn't help the bashful chuckle that escaped him. The yearling decided it would be best to hush up and instead plunged his face back into the task of tearing leg from body -- Great Horned Thing leg, that is. It was certainly a job and a half, leaving the lad huffing into blood and muscle. He dug his paws into the ground, dull claws finding purchase in the loamy soil beneath the snow. With a grand shake of his head, he felt a tear ... then two ... and then, finally, he was sent practically tumbling backwards onto his rear as the limb finally came away with a wet rrrrip!

Nightingale thought nothing of his own inclusion, even as he corrected it (especially as he corrected it, as she mulled briefly in the moment), and as she continued to throw her meager weight around in trying to remove the appendage she was rewarded with the sound of a dull pop and a loud tear as the skin broke. It was the best nonverbal answer she had ever bore witness to (that she could remember), a hell yeah if ever there was one.



Nightingale yipped and pranced in place for a moment, nodding her head. Blood colored over a quarter of her muzzle, and atop of it was some fleshy part of the leg—or something inside of it—that she hadn't noticed and couldn't feel. Agreed, she rejoined, beaming. Though you'n'me are obviously scavenging experts. We have found a Great Horned Beast after all, she wasn't sure if they were difficult to find in general, but embarking on that hunt, they would first need to track and trail and surely then they would find out.