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we dream of the places where we never die - Ghenaya - 4/7/2026
It was raining again.
The world felt very big and very small, all at once. Starling couldn't hear much beyond the tempo of the drizzle, but the smells had grown stronger as a by-product. A particularly appealing scent drew her across the permafrost with her head low, and soon enough she was on the path of her first meal in days. There had not been much of value at the camp she had stumbled upon earlier—her jaw still ached a little bit from the effort of unearthing the broken antler—and by now she had wasted plenty of time and energy on her investigation, rather than on any real hunt. It was time to focus and feed herself.
Her prowling started out with great intent and focus, then waned as the afternoon wore on and the rain chilled her spirits. She lost the trail a few times—still unsure what it was she tracked—until rounding the side of a hill where an old pine tree had fallen and crushed a younger one, producing a lean-to of some kind. As soon as she began to approach it something small, long, and white shot out from its shadows and went worming through the snow.
She took off after it, of course. There was no avoiding that instinct. Within moments of catching up to the creature Starling dove for it, missed; then dove again, and grappled through the snow while it screeched and thrashed for freedom. In the end the ermine's coat was stained a heavy purple-red, and Starling had a hot meal to savor.