10/27/2025, 4:50 PM
cú has been lucky. there is not much more game here, no, but there are berries that have not yet rotted and fallen. it and crow together tear through bush after bush, and it is enough for crow but nothing near what fills a wolf. but it keeps it alive another day.
survive.
the forest and the brambles loosen out into fields of golden flowers. it is...cold, but not the cruel cold that stole its breath from its lungs under that tree, and the sunlight is weak and watery but clings readily to its black fur. cú remembers long summer days spent lazing in the sun with crow and misses them fiercely. but it still has crow, and that is all it has ever needed.
it coos a choppy imitation of a crow's caw and crow swoops down, talons prickling into patchy wintershed fur. comfortable, together, they creep along. its keen nose picks up something warm and tangy; it quickens its step, though cú is careful, careful, to remain quiet and crouched even with its lanky halfgrown limbs.
track? crow asks it in a low croak, and cú gives a fluting chirp of assent.
there are wings, and then only the rustle of grass. cú lifts its head and paces after, quick and light, mouth watering at the thought of meat-
there is a voice. frustrated, a low hush. a huge sloping figure in the colors of sand and autumn-moon. cú wavers, uneasy. it regards her with wide eyes and sniffs at the air, nosing carefully at the dirt. the prey-scent is still there but blood has not been spilled.
"food?" it ventures cautiously, pacing a wide halfcircle around her.
