your touch is atomic

ISLA If we are being kind, we might imagine that what happens next is purely a result of mindless bloodlust and nothing more. Alas, a fuzzy, whiskered slip of a thing like a raccoon is never going to draw the attention of a hungry tigress. And so hunger and bloodlust is satisfied - mostly - before Isla even prowls into the field of wildflowers, and if Remi turns his furry cheeks upwind, he might smell the tang of iron staining the air. The deer carcass is mostly gone now, nothing but a bleached cradle of rib bones bared to the sky and a torn pelt, and it's with a muzzle and claws stained crimson that Isla presses herself low to the ground, a monster among the petals. She can see the masked little thing going about its business, and it shouldn't annoy her, but it does. Blame a feline's instincts; either way, as Remi looks about for his bouquet, Isla strikes in a smooth pounce, talons outstretched to pin the raccoon down.