Sc-sc-scene shawty, XD

It was a suicide mission. That's all. No more and no less. Feeding herself to the sea, as if she'd truly lost it. As if she'd well and truly lost her grasp. Chain coming loose, coming undone. Undone, unglued. Like she can reach out and touch it, but then, can she? Was Iscariot okay, or had the sea taken her away entirely? Had she missed? Surely not. Too good a tracker for that. She wouldn't have missed, and she wouldn't have lost them. Suicide mission. Right. Iscariot makes it or she dies. She dies and she dies-- it's only through the sea that she's born again.

And there she is. Born again. Last dregs of sunlight fading on the horizon, but it doesn't matter. Iscariot makes landfall, and she's born anew. Hunger in her stomach. Hungry? Too hungry. Too fucking hungry. A rumbling that starts in her core, and resonates through her chest. It doesn't feel good. None of it. Content to never look at another fish again as long as she lives, a bit of disgust crossing her delicate features. Lip raising. Coughing and shivering against the autumn chill as she is, Iscariot's head spins. Too many thoughts, all of them buffeting her-- so much fucking noise.

Unwilling to rally against it, the girl gives to it instead. Bends to it. Allows it to soak through, permeate her skull. Her system. Steadying herself, clearing her head. Coughing saltwater, dragging herself to the beach, shaking her coat as dry as she can. Iscariot casts off the seawater, sends it in all directions. Does what she can to push it away, though she shivers. Right. Stepping up the rocky shore, it was the best Iscariot was going to get for now. The closest she'd get to warm, but fuck it, it's more than she's had in... since she entered the sea. Good enough.

Sparse, low trees are enough to take some of the teeth from the biting wind. Ears flattened against her skull, Iscariot would huddle beneath one to get her bearings. Eyes adjusting to the low light in her further-shadowed hideaway, lifting her muzzle to scent the breeze. Her main quarry could wait. Wouldn't make it if she starved to death. No, there's another scent. The harsh environment wasn't great for prey, but she could make it work. The queen of making it work, Riot hunched her shoulders against the bitterness of the autumn evening. Fuck off. She could make it happen.

Can't rely on your eyes in the dark. Riot knows as much. Close them, filter out the distractions. Eyes shut, what can she smell? Nose to the ground. Gamey, small. Sweet, a little warm. Furry. Rabbit. Riot can smell the rabbits, but where were they? Tongue flickering across her nose. Focus, what direction? Picking up a breeze, she hones in. Leaving the cover of the trees while dampness and saltwater still clung to her coat wasn't her idea of a good time, but she needed to eat. Just a meal, and she could rest easy until first light.

Lavender eyes flickering open, Iscariot's vision is better adjusted. Did it have to be so fucking cold? Breath harsh against the sky, hackles lifting in a ridge up her back. Trying to fluff herself up against it, but still, the chill rattles raw against her bones. Head down. Keep going. Nose to the scent, Iscariot isn't going to lose it now. She won't lose it, she won't let it go. There is food, out here. There's food beneath the snow drifts, there's a burrow nearby. Hungrily, the slip of a girl moves along the ground with her head low.

Head low. Gaze brilliant, harsh, gleaming in the moonlight. Fuck, she's cold. Adrenaline too high to give it heed, Riot wouldn't stop now. Couldn't stop now. Lowering her head against it, the girl carried on. Scent trail growing more and more fresh. As she grows nearer, the girl can see the outline of footprints, though it's not until she's nearly upon them. They act as confirmation only, not clues, in the darkness. Ah, she's on the right track. She's on the right track for now. Fuck. Sides aching, the pads of her paws stinging, Iscariot continues on.

As the scent is the freshest, the girl grinds to a halt. Holding her breath, head low. Eyes closed. Listening, as best she can. Intent-- if she can pull this off in one strike, there's no energy wasted on a chase. If there's no energy wasted on a chase, she can eat and nap and get her shit sorted out sooner. Right. One shot, one kill. Breath held, listening for the sound of life beneath the shallow snow drifts. Though the sparse pines were alive with creatures of the night, it doesn't take Iscariot long to sort out the sounds. Untangling them, one from another. An owl landing on a snowy branch. The rustle of the wind. And then-- ah.

Taking off gracefully, Iscariot knows she has one shot at this hare's den. One shot, and it comes into focus as she's upon it. A dark outline in the snow, vicious jaws making their way into the tight hole. Quick and deadly, fishing in. Before the hare has a chance to make an escape somewhere deeper into the network, Iscariot pulls away with the creature screaming and squirming in her jaws. Finally, a source of heat. Of warmth.

With a sickening crunch, blood splashes across the snow in the darkness. Screaming no more, Iscariot has her meal. Furtive glance over her shoulder, she's not in the clear yet. Other predators, bigger predators, would be out here. The would have heard the rabbit, and she needed to find somewhere she could hole up and chow down. Keen gaze in the low light, the girl makes her way for the tightest copse of trees. They're sad, but they'll have to do. At least she's small enough that it shouldn't matter. Quick to find and stuff herself in an abandoned foxhole, grateful for the wind kicking up to obscure her scent trail, the creature retreats to enjoy her meal.

Warm enough. Dry enough. Fed enough. Suicide mission complete, Iscariot could allow herself to be reborn.