Jasper Rocks i go back to december all the time

It was, Cézanne decided, quite the odd couple of minutes. The traces of her brother were suddenly far more interesting than the prospect of food, and she trailed along after the younger female uselessly, still contemplating whether or not to rise to the bait but never given the chance to finish deciding—because she just bulled on, spewing out bile and venom. Finally purging some old wound of all its pus and bitterness, and Cézanne listened with a mixture of concern, amusement, and roaring, vexing, black-hearted foul anger. The word envy was on the tip of her tongue, envy at this woman who had stolen the place that was hers, had stolen her brother from her, this false Queen who thought she was as good as Cézanne—but it was not envy. It was rage, fury at this thief, a twin purpose to her original one: to tear this pretender down and shove her in the dirt, and reclaim her brother.But there were amusing things in the girl's tale, too, things which stroked her ruffled feathers and made her want to purr contentedly (and also gnash her teeth in anger, that Mapplethorpe had abandoned this promising girl for the sake of some other female idiot).» Oh, I do believe he got rather close to his goal with you, « she said with a slight sniff, still speaking in that detached fashion, as if it was not quite worthy of her time to truly say it all. But, it was as close to truth (and praise) that you got with Cézanne; she saw, and heard, a lot of herself in this girl.But then again, there's only one Queen, and her name is still Cézanne.» This Naira can die there for all I care, « and I might even make sure of it myself, » but I will not let Death have my— « and the truth fell silent upon her lips, body tense all of a sudden, ears sweeping forward as her nose sampled the air.

She knew these sounds. She could've laughed it to the distant skies, howled a demented song of irony and victory—but she didn't, too anxious not to foil their hunt and lose their prey. Her bright, lantern eyes fell upon the girl—do you hear it, too? do you smell it, too?Winter must've driven them mad.Why else where they down here? Fighting? Not that she complained; their useless head-butting meant she had a better chance at filling her own belly. With a wolfish grin she lowered her head, the wicked smile curving her lips and revealing her teeth, and her muzzle drifted close to the younger wolf's ears. » They're all idiots, anyway, « she breathed, voice smelling of old deaths, and it was left up to debate whether she meant goats, or men.Then she said nothing more; simply flicked her inky tail and set off at a cautious trot, moving silently through the thick snow. Hunger gnawed in her gut, cold seeped through her dense fur and into her joints (or was it the other way around? that the cold came from within?), but the exhaustion was burned away—she had one, final chance to make things right. One, final chance to show life that she would not go down, not this year, and, perhaps best of all—she had a partner-in-crime.Truth to be told, she'd probably eat the poor girl if she botched this hunt and made them go hungry.

"Oh, I do believe he got rather close to his goal with you," the woman sniffed but, even as it was said in such a way, it restored Taima's sense of pride. It made a small smirk form along her muzzle. She continued, "This Naira can die there for all I care, but I will not let Death have my—" The girl's ears perked, but she did not question why her companion had stopped in mid-sentence. She had heard it too, and it was with wide, curious eyes that she looked at the other woman who was already scenting the air for what could have possibly been their next meal: an injured mountain goat.

Her mouth watered and her instincts kicked into high gear. It had been so long since she had last hunted, let alone even practice her hunting and tracking skills. Taima caught the rogue's gaze and froze as she momentarily drew near, bringing her lips to one of her silvery ears, "They're all idiots, anyway." Taima's whiskered brows rose, looking after her hunting partner as she made her way through the woods. It would have been foolish not to follow; and, it was with an equally quick gait that the young Lyall trailed after her. If there was one upside to being as skimpy and scrawny as she currently was, it would have to be this: traveling with steps as quiet as the snowfall.

In the minutes that followed, she eventually came to a halt as her pale golden eyes were ensnared by a flash of thick, shaggy, white fur, proceeded by the crisp sound of horns click-clacking together. She had only ever seen a mountain goat once in her life, when she had lived within Nomads Pass, but now she had the opportunity to try one...

They danced their doom under that sky, those goats so far from home. Winter had driven them down just like it had driven the wolves to the edges of their existence, watching them claw, desperately, at opportunities and drifting-away echoes. They'd survived on their memories of yesterday and their dreams of tomorrow, and by everything that was still alive, Cézanne would rise above this miserable winter. So her breath was hot and harsh in her throat, steaming out into the cold, sharp air only to dissipate like so many other things, disappearing in front of her eyes. She heard them, and she saw them, and she knew what they tasted like, the heat of their flesh as their corpses steamed into the night air—it took more strength than it should to remain in place, and not rush the damn beasts and ruin it all.She was hungrier than she'd ever been before.Intent on their own futile battle they danced among the trees, and Cézanne ghosted there too, paws light, soundless as her partner; they had become little but bone and fur, silent and lithe. Deadly, she thought as they drifted along underneath the thick gray sky, the soft flurry of snow raining down as the bitter wind promised to pick up, and soon. So she skirted around the trunks, mindful of her scent, jaws open to bare her fangs. Her mind had roamed ahead to the gory feast to come, but the body still had a duty to perform: and which to pick, victor or victim? Would they batter themselves to near-death, or leave each other be while still hale?She favored her gray shadow with a glance, but they were wolves: surely she knew how to hunt. Surely she didn't need Cézanne to babysit her through this.Together, they would rise above.It seemed far too altruistic for her, because she ruled sovereign, but she had to admit the young lady had a certain charming confidence. So, she grinned to herself in the impending darkness of a storm, drifted along, closer, eyes agleam in the lackluster light. Soon, she told herself, settling against a rough trunk to wait them out. Patience would feed her until their flesh could.

There is a rabbit's nest nearby. +1 Health

Both anticipation and excitement had her on edge. It was all about timing, this hunting business, that much she knew. Timing and listening... waiting for the opportune moment to make a move and, hopefully, not get injured in the process. Her eyes went back to the rogue woman once more, ears cupped forward as she crouched low to the ground. Memories of hunting with her parents flashed before her eyes, and something more than determination and purpose shut out all else as she honed her senses on the mindless goats who had taken their skirmish well away from their native grounds. On foreign, even soil, they would be hindered and possibly clumsy if the placement of tree roots were in their favor.

Taima blinked a few times, trailing along and waiting for the clacking to stop, a sign that the moment to ambush was ideal. The impending storm, she realized, would hopefully work in their favor but all too soon she apprehended that they would have to move once the wind picked up and gave their location away. The scent of freshly drawn blood stung her nostrils at last and the girl had to clench her jaw and lock her limbs, eager to jump into the fray and deliver the killing blow. Something told her to wait, however, if only a bit longer, one of the mountain beasts was already winning and if the two women were fortunate enough, perhaps there would be little to do in regards to filling their stomachs.

The more the Lyall sniffed, the more her mouth watered and after she peered through a section of long grass to sneak a peek at their battling targets, she looked back to her companion. The scent of a rabbit's nest nearby might have derailed her train of thought if she had been only a few months younger than she was now; time and proper training, it seemed, had at last fashioned her into a creature of practicality. One rabbit would have them waging their own war against one another, but one goat would be enough to make both of them last at least one more week into this wretched winter.

Soon? her eyes wordlessly asked, picking up at the sound of hooves scraping against the forest floor followed by the soft thud of an elbow or knee into the ground.