not a grocery store rotisserie chicken to be found

Luckily, everything had happened during the winter. Lucky was a funny word to describe her aching, frozen paws - but it had allowed her to escape safely to Boreas across a narrow ice channel at the most southern edge of where she'd called home for the past few years of her life. Even as she crossed into Boreas, her eyes were turned over her shoulder, looking longingly back at the vanishing coast. Buut it was for the best this way. An angry mob was likely on her tail, but hopefully far enough away that she could lose them the further she obfuscated her trail as she wound deeper and deeper into the continent.

As she tore her eyes away from her past and grumpily focused them on her future, Fable felt a familiar pang in her stomach. She tried to ignore it - what she needed most now was to put space between herself and her pursuers - but a sharp loud gurgle would not permit her to ignore it any longer. She groaned in frustration. Fable had managed to grab a few sacred items in her flight (salt! SALT!), but had left behind her coffers of exotic spices and cured snack stuffs. Whatever she caught today, it would have to quick and dirty. No time for finessing a meal. She couldn't resist a small pout. Her time away had made her spoiled.

She fixed her eyes on the horizon, towards where the powerful geyser was erupting from the earth. It was impressive, really - but her eyes were drawn to the shorebirds that swirled lazily nearby. Steam rose from the puddles of water at the base, but the ones furthest away were wide and calm. Birds alighted often at the edges of the wide puddles, but they flitted away every time the geyser erupted. Fable began to craft a plan in her head, but it would certainly require perfect timing. Ugh, it would certainly help if she had a second set of paws.