looking for you but you're right here

@Rafferty

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A majority of Edith's time had been spent following the herd and @Aldritch around Elkshire's neighboring territories. He had been minding his p's and q's, and she couldn't complain. It seemed as though her trust in him had come from Him—but, despite this, she'd continue to make sure he stayed in his lane and followed the herd. 

She lounged in one of the grove's many glades and groomed herself. It'd been a long day of constantly moving and she was tired and dirty; the ground had been muddy from the rain the night before.

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carl chose violence

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 It'd been nearly a week since he'd woken in a world that was wrong. Every sunrise was another morning away from the only life he'd known.

 As tedious as the hunger digging a chasm-wide pit in his stomach was, he was comforted by that familiar feeling of need. He knew how to take care of himself, so he clung to that ordinary chore and began to hunt. 

 A newborn elk would do splendidly.

 Crouching on the fringes of the violet meadow, Rafferty watched the wobbling calf. Its mother grazed a few feet away, too inexperienced or indifferent to notice the beast skirting the treeline.

 The young wolf bolted, panicking the herd. It was a violent, uncoordinated takedown, and he grunted as the cruel, crescent edge of a hoof grazed his head. But when the dust settled he had his prize.

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Edith turned towards the sound of the scrambling herd and quickly scrambled onto all fours. She could see their silhouettes through the trees—running for their lives—as well as the hulking figure of the chaser. With her target spotted, she shot toward him like a bullet. She ran as fast as she could and sent a silent prayer to Him that she hadn't been too late to notice what'd happened. 

She hadn't noticed in time. She was too late—a calf laid dead at the hunter's feet.

Edith saw red—all of Rafferty's distinguishable features going unrecognized in her fury—and she leaped towards him and aimed for his jugular with the intent to kill.

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 The pride and satisfaction over his success were severed like wheat scythed from the stalk - efficient and final. 

 She came barrelling from his blind side. Rafferty tumbled, end over end, scrambling with reactionary panic, then rage. 

 He felt her teeth grab onto his neck and he twisted to do the same, the yearlings clutching each other with mouthfuls of skin and fur. He clamped down, wanting to hurt, one word clanging in his head like a warning bell - loss, loss, loss, loss.

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Edith was a berserker by nature. Her safety had—and would always—come second. 

She felt where his teeth sunk in and the delicate fold of her neck ignited and wondered how much shewas hurting him. Her gaze bore into his single eye, hot flames licking her irises. That was when she remembered: she'd met him before. Edith's anger increased tenfold; she had failed to ask if The High Elk had blessed and allowed him to hunt the child. Her expression dared him to go further—to dig deeper and fuel the fire he'd ignited in her.

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 Recognition came in flurries, flashes, and fits. 

 Princess.

 With a stubborn snarl and shake of his head, he tore himself out of her grip, sacrificing skin in the process. “You've got to be fucking kidding me. Get your own meal, you lazy brat.”

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They separated violently and Edith held some of his skin in her mouth. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me," she spat out the remnants of their scuffle and maintained eye contact, "Get your own meal, you lazy brat.”  Meal? She took a second to process what he'd said and to remember that there was an occasion that they could hunt elk and deer. Had He spoken to Rafferty? Was he one of them?

"Did The High Elk give you permission?" she demanded, "Or did you just kill it out of spite?" Out of the sin the oozed from his imperfections—or out of spite because of her, she assumed. Edith was ready to go back at it again, but with The High Elk on her mind, she would give him a moment to explain himself.

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 He stood over his kill, wound dripping to mix with the blood of the slain newborn. 

 Nothing here made sense, her words least of all. “I didn't kill it for fun, you freak. I killed it for food - now back off.”

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Alright—at least he didn't kill it out of spite. 

"But did The High Elk give you permission?" Edith pressed, taking a step towards him. "Did He say that you could hunt deer and elk today?"

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 Rafferty blinked, and then he laughed, barking and harsh. 

 “Why the hell would I ask for permission from prey?”

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Rafferty's laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. 

"You really are a dumbass," Edith shot back, "Nobody can hunt elk and deer without The High Elk's permission. They are sacred here—killing them is the worst thing you can do here." He would have to be careful in how he replied; she was poised and ready to strike again.

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 She was so easy to piss off and the cruel amusement he gleaned from her ongoing consternation was a lapping bath of loathing he reveled in. 

 Calling her bluff, Raf dipped his head and nipped at the dead newborn's skin. “Again. Why? Taking orders from prey is weak and stupid.”

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"I see how far you've gotten without following Him," Edith shot back, "you're doing a fucking great job with that one eye of yours." Her tail lashed angrily at her hocks. 

"The High Elk is the manifestation of my family's God—they represent and created life as we know it. Elk and deer are His apostles—they're how we're able to communicate with Him. We collect their antlers to communicate with him."The child at Rafferty's paws hadn't had the chance to grow up; it was a mystery whether or not it would have grown antlers. "They're a big fucking deal around here—and it's fucking insulting that you've done this." Her expression softened as she looked at the calf, and she shook her head as she realized that nothing could bring it back to life. The sinful act had already been committed. Nothing could change that.

Edith looked at him again, the fire re-igniting in her mahogany eyes. "You better use every last fucking piece of that baby," she warned lowly, staring sharply into his eye, "And if I ever fucking see you killing a deer or elk again—me and my brothers will fucking kill you."

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 It was more of a reason than Raf was expecting. The yearling sniffed, his prideful triumph in securing a solid meal cracking at the girl's earnest explanation. 

 But she was too angry to earn an apology. Snorting, he looked down at the slain calf. “Want to share?” An offering. An olive branch. “Less chance of waste with two.”

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Edith was surprised by Rafferty's offer; she hadn't expected him to take anything away from her lecture. "Yeah," she answered stiffy—it was obvious that she was caught off guard, "Thanks." What the fuck was going on???? Sirens began to ring in her ears, but she ignored them for now. 

"I never thought I'd never thank you for something," Edith mused darkly, sitting at his side and avoiding his eye. "But here we are."

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 “Don't mention it.” He replied. 

 Rafferty turned his attention to his catch, trying to block her from even his periphery as he tore in and began to feast. As sheepish as he began, hunger soon took over, turning him slavering and ravenous. 

 “Better hurry before I get all the best bits.” A goading kind of a challenge.

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“Better hurry before I get all the best bits.” Rafferty challenged and Edith smirked. She had been quiet—as she had been sending a silent prayer to Him—but now she was ready to join him in the meal. 

She snapped at the piece of meat closest to him, grinning as she ripped off a plump piece of breast meat and nearly swallowed it whole. She went back in for another piece, grinning smugly at him as she tested to waters for how long she could pull off her eating in his personal space.

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 She rose and took the bait with ease, and Rafferty relished in the pleasure he took from sparking that flammable temper. 

 His lips lifted and he snapped back when she ventured closer, not allowing her to get away with breaching what he'd claimed to be his. He knew full well that she was capable of taking what she wanted with enough motivation (see: frustration). 

 “C'mon, Princess. Try harder.”

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Rafferty (rightfully) fended off Edith, and she drew back her lips and snapped in turn as she pulled away. As she drew herself to full height, he challenged her again: "C'mon, Princess. Try harder." His words were met with a throaty growl; he always found a way to rile her up—and she liked it. 

She stood and thrust her muzzle as she tried to grab his. Although he was stronger and had the upper hand, she would work like hell to to drag him down and wrangle him into submission.

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 Teeth scraped across the ridge of his nose, a rogue incisor nicking hard enough to draw blood. 

 They were two kids with backpacks full of baggage and hand grenades for balls. It was easy for brutality to parallel comfort when you were weaned on violence. So, they played.

 He lurched forward, squaring himself, headbutting her in the ribs. 

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She landed her mark and scraped the bridge of his nose. "You gotta be quicker than that," she teased in a low growl. 

Edith instantly regretted her moment of boasting. Rafferty rebutted and headbutted her in the ribs, and sent her tumbling sideways. He had managed to knock the wind out of her, and despite her best efforts to scamble onto her feet, she laid lamely on her side. "Son-of-a-bitch," she wheezed, glaring up at him as the dust began to settle.

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 Raf was the picture of smugness as he watched her tumble to the ground. “What was that? I gotta be quicker?” He barked out a laugh, making no effort to spare her feelings, turning back towards their meal.

 “So what do you hunt if not elk and deer? Small animals aren't much of a challenge.” He said, giving her a once-over.

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"Ugh," Edith groaned as Rafferty rubbed in his victory. She didn't say anything else regarding her loss and the embarrassment that came with it; she'd get him next time. 

She hoisted herself off of the ground once she caught her breath and returned to their meal. "Elk and deer that're white—boar and caribou, too," Edith answered. "I don't go for the small prey. I prefer a challenge." she said, lifting her chin.

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 This place didn't make sense, the she-wolf least of all. Though he had sensed traces of other wolves in his brief travels, she had been the only one he'd seen since waking in this strange world. 

 Rafferty regarded her then, squaring his single good eye on her. “Have you always lived here?”

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"I was born here," Edith replied, "Not too far away from us, actually." She motioned over her shoulder in the general direction of Elkshire. 

She had heard whisperings of other wolves appearing without their memories, but Rafferty was the first one she had actually spoken to. "And you just ... woke up here?" she asked, trying to make sense of it. "And you don't remember anything?

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