cry a little

More than anything, she wanted to be able to forget the ache of loneliness and loss. She craved the intimacy of friendship, but it was worthless if she perished from starvation. Food first, talk later. The rush of conversation as she and her sisters finished their meals together was perhaps another reason why she enjoyed a good hunt. It seemed nearly blasphemous to waste any more time, once they had entered an agreement together.

Following his lead, the ivory canis concentrated on the scents that reminded her of pork. She dared not ask what the strange name meant; warthog meant nothing to her. Nonetheless, she attempted to conjure an image in her head of what it would be. Likely a pig of sorts (brown, she imagined), with tusks (because that would be just her luck), and covered in warts. Hesitant to reveal her ignorance, she looked back, tipping her muzzle to indicate that her companion should lead the way.

"We can decide a strategy once we find them." If they found the warthogs, though Muses anxiously hoped that they would. "I used to hunt with my littermates, and we each had our own specializations." She mentioned offhandedly, padding along, carefully searching. She spoke absently, voice intentionally low so that she would not accidentally scare anything off. It was strange to reminisce, for in the months since the incident, she had not spoken about such things. Now she felt numb, nearly hollow.