ooc:
She was falling deeper into the night. The woman needn’t see the position of the moon beyond the den to know this but felt it within her core. The slow, rhythmic tick of time as it passed pulling her further from the prior day into the next to come. Try as she may to ignore it, she failed and still she denied its passage and tried to busy herself as she waited. But still it wore on and with each bead she fixed to another feather, her movements were becoming less fluid and more lethargic. She found herself missing the quick of the feather in the small opening of the bead, sticking the pads of her paws instead. And with each prick were grew more frustrated with the craft until a final slip ended her attempts and she dropped her craft beside her in a huff.
Her neck was bristled with irritation, no longer for the craft but for the circumstance itself. The quiet linear precedence told her that it would not belong before the dead of night settled, bringing an end to one day and the start of another. And yet she heard nothing to indicate she would be joined before the shift in days. Her adjusted gaze stared out into the darkness, focusing on a lone rock to force it to absorb her frustrations at the absence of her mate. Was this is decision then? To run off and leave her be? He would rather succumb to his own assumptions than trust what she told him? The thought of it turned her stomach. Her once idle claws curled into her palms, the pricks of the feather nothing in comparison to the drive of her sharpened claws into her calloused pads. They dug deep, skirting along the fine threshold of flesh that gave way to blood. They were near protrusion, she could tell by the pain, but they did not yet pierce and instead lingered, filtering her emotional pain into a physical one in the hopes she could be rid of it all together.
Why would he act like this? She had done nothing wrong…
A soft tone beyond the mouth of the den withdrew her claws from their sheaths and immediately the woman was on her knees, crawling toward its entrance. There was not anger, but relief on her face at recognition to the sought after voice. She did not mind that his question was redundant, she didn’t care at all that he hadn’t slipped into the den himself. But he was there and that’s what mattered. He was there.
Emerging, she spied immediately the carcass resting on the ground and the fledgling attempting to pick pieces of it apart to feed herself. She clicked her tongue once for the bird’s attention then swiftly gestured with the tip of a claw from the bird to herself, then extended an arm as a perch. Immediately the young vulture hobbled over and set herself upon the arm earning a gentle tap on its beak in reward as both female’s turned to look at the solitary male standing grey against the darkness. She could have corrected him then, told him that the bird in his care still needed to be hand fed at its young age, information that she had learned through trial and error, but that also did not matter when set against the current standing between herself and her mate. What mattered was them and nothing else. But while she had been the one to speak before, she felt she owed him the courtesy of letting his thoughts be heard. Her own were stepped out of anger and insult and she knew in her heart he hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. It was true, she had been in his position once and had acted far more poorly than him. The least she could do was remember that and not blame him. But rather than voice this, she was silent. Her gaze looked nowhere else but to him and she remained seated on the ground on folded knees. She lowered her arm which held the bird and let its small frame rest comfortably cradled against her chest. And upon her lips as always was a soft smile.