this tragic affair

From her jaws hangs a hare, caught in the earliest folds of morning before anyone else has risen. It is a meager meal, one not intended for her and she pads silently through the warming shadows, taking care to evade the leafy foliage upon the ground that could threaten to announce her presence. She does not want to be noticed, and as she nears the place she seeks, a flare of her nostrils tells her that Deteste is inside, perhaps still slumbering (or so she hopes). A low breath slips from her as she lowers her muzzle, jaws cracking open to deposit the carcass -- peace offering -- at the entrance to the den before she smoothly turns tail and vanishes from the scene of the crime, slinking along the paths that have grown familiar, leading to her own den. Parts of it still smell of him, for he has built this little room for her and she sighs under her breath, wanting to be with him but she must practice patience, meager offerings, loyalty -- these are things she will do if in the end they can both be happy. Laxago does not put much effort into many things, but for the ashen-hued king, she will do anything. Licking the blood from her lips, the pale woman slips into the small confines of her home, circling once, twice, thrice and then flopping down in a tight circle, her nose tucked into her tail and her eyes slipping closed.

Table by Azil