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(361) Private for Owl. Alyssum is in lupus form.
Macbeth watched the coywolf as she padded away from the Courthouse and out into the woods. He knew that he would not be aiding her that day, since she insisted all of the day yesterday that she needed to work on her tracking skills. The magpie knew that the woman appreciated his help whenever she hunted, but he did not find a reason why she had been rejecting him as of late whenever she stalked her prey. He was far from believing that Alyssum was doing that to inflict personal pain on him, but he did worry about her; usually she was not this... determined, to put it nicely.
As if hearing his thoughts, the de Fonte increased her speed once she stepped into the trees, like she was trying to lose him. The bird simply hovered above the treeline, though he was careful to stay out of her line of sight. Just because he could not help her that day, it did not mean that he could not watch over her.
Alyssum huffed as she snaked through the undergrowth, but she pulled herself out of her annoyed state and decided to focus on the task ahead. The other day, she and Coeus had planned to go hunting together, which she looked forward to, even when she was on her way to their meeting spot. She began to daydream about what kind of prey they would catch, and started to become ambitious in her mind; she imagined large deer and boars and other various beasts laying at her paws, the game all cleanly killed and remarkable. While it seemed far fetched, she knew she could catch all of them. Whether it was possible when she was on four legs and without her bow, well, it was still to be discovered.
With a swish of her tail, she entered into the small clearing, and sat down upon her haunches as she awaited her friend, though she was certain he was not far. While she waited, she continued to sniff the air, to see if any game would be nearby. The day was bright and clear; it was a perfect time to hunt.
