January 5th; Afternoon; Overcast; -8° F/-22° C

In the thick of winter, heavy icicles had formed in the canopy of twisted branches above Hollowheart Keep. At any moment it seemed the sharp points of ice could fall down to the forest floor, and it was mostly with caution that Mapplethorpe slowly navigated his way along the edges of his territory. The pains in his back, shoulders, and joints were still there and, day by day, it was becoming a little harder to mask the discomfort that tugged at the dark triangles on his face. Here and there, while he presently loathed the idea of lifting his leg or raise a paw, he shivered each time he lowered his head to use the back of the base of his ear to mark the trees and establish his boundaries.

Thirteen prominent trees (and a number of smaller shrubs) had been marked so far by the time the Hollowheart Keep Leader had had enough. The space between his shoulder blades felt numb and he was starting to think that eating something might be in order. Since leaving Naira and the girls that morning, he had yet to eat even a morsel of something. The goat Chulyin and Quick had brought home had already been consumed, with Mapplethorpe only having a portion of the inner organs for himself while leaving the rest to the cubs, who were now practically a season away from becoming full-fledged yearlings. Taima, he had now figured out, had run off (much to his dismay), but it was with anticipation and a still-suspicious mind that he kept sweeping the borders for her scent, just in case he could be proved wrong in thinking she had abandoned him... after all he had done for her.

The cold had started to get to him by the time the sun had shone directly over Relic Lore at its highest point in the sky. He could feel his elbows and knees start to creak along with the branches above and with every step he was starting to wince. He eventually dragged his feet to where the woods seemed too quiet and too still, the only sound being the strange rhythm of clicking and fluttering. Like bird beaks and restless wings. His ears drew up and forward and as he was drawn towards the commotion but before he could even set sight on what should have been a kill site or an uncovered patch of grass, a flurry of black feathers and an uproar of ear-splitting caw-CAW's! came up around him in a whirlwind of shock.

He had disturbed a murder of crows, his body forced to lean back and turn away while the wolf-birds took flight to evacuate their resting place. When they had all gone with the sounds of distant scolding, Mapplethorpe released the breath he had held, his aging heart thumping about wildly in his chest. He blinked several times before he could discern what laid before him, a simple display of scattered footprints without even a single bone or scrap of fur in sight. Hastily he inhaled. One deep breath in and one heavy sigh out, but no startling information came to him... There was nothing in the air. No blood, no illness, no other creature's scent apart from his and the stench of the scavenging flock.

One step was all it had taken to shake him from his daze and, just seconds later, the Hollowheart Keep Leader was circling around where most of the birds had been resting, stark black feathers blowing this way and and that with every step he took.