The stag was a large one; she had only caught brief glimpses of it in the dim half-light of dawn, but it was enough. Its tawny hide was dark, mottled with white, and the sight of its huge, tapered antlers made her think twice. Oh, jeeze. And she was doing this why? Her stomach growled loudly, and Rift sighed. She hadn't eaten for days. She wasn't a great hunter; normally, she'd never even dream about attacking a beast this large, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She licked her lips involuntarily, blue eyes glowing dimly in the morning darkness. She took a careful step forward, grass barely crunching under her paw, and then -

Riff, I think he has the hots for you. There was a snort of laughter. Rift ground her teeth. "Shut up, Riffe." But the little voice inside her head wouldn't; she should have known better than that. Aw, look, Riffy's getting angry, Riffe singsonged in a high-pitched, nasal voice. Rift snarled despite herself. The stag's head jerked up. Panicked, now, she rushed forward, claws scrabbling at the snow and rocks. The stag gave a low grunt and bounded away, white tail bobbing behind it. Riffe's voice continued in Rift's head. The deer's getting away! The deer's getting away! she taunted. Rift ignored Riffe, and sprinted after the beast for several minutes, falling behind steadily.

As a forest came into view, she veered away, giving up the chase to sit down forlornly on the warm, hard ground. Riffe laughed nasally in her head, but Rift ignored her. Her stomach demanded food, outraged that she had missed the stag. Still, Rift didn't let Riffe get her angry - or Riffe would take control. She licked a paw, licking at it despondently. Life sucked, in short. She kept a poker face in place, though - as always - and leaned backwards to absorb the summer warmth as the sun peered anxiously over the horizon. Dammit, another day. She'd never be able to find prey now. "Starved to death," she mused, and paused, startled that she'd said it outloud. Her voice sounded too high, too happy.

She gave a sudden bark of black laughter. Yeah, 'cause happy was her middle name at the moment. "Rift. Possibly insane, found emaciated and malnourished, as well as very dead, on the border of..." she continued recklessly. So what if she was speaking out loud? There was no one there to hear her. Oh, yes, there is, Riffe howled in her head. Rift growled. Where was she, anyway? She glanced around, at the long grass tickling her pelt. She was a pretty thing; long pelt russet and blue and white in the early sun, grey-blue eyes surprisingly penetrating.

She tilted her head, staring upwards, and from this angle, she's not quite so attractive. The left half of her body was burned. Not just pink and tender; all of the fur had been burned off, leaving her with a mass of scars. Some fur was beginning to grow through in mottled, uneven patches along her side. She shivered. The lack of hair really didn't give her much protection against the elements; she was glad it was summer. She had no idea how she'd survive winter. She'd find a way; she always did. Of course, it was better this way; alone. She couldn't have a pack. They'd laugh at her. They'd call her crazy. In her head, Riffe laughed. Hell yeah, they would. Rift didn't flinch; she was used to it.

But she was normal, she told herself stubbornly. She was just... she shifted uneasily. Different. Cursed. Cursed with a goddamn airhead. At least she would never be lonely. She sighed, resting her head on her paws and pinning her ears back in a futile attempt to drown out the high-pitched, grating laughter of Riffe. But you can't fight what's in your head.