The kangaroo rat is actually a bit surprised that she<span style="font-style: italic">does</span>pick up any kind of scent at all.  She’s not entirely certain what to make of it, though.  She’s able to pick out that it’s female and feline, but the rest of the underlying hints from that scent really don’t have the kind of meaning for a city-born rodent like they would for a resident of the wilderness.<br/><br/>“Great, a cat,” she mutters to herself, still not exactly frightened, but noticeably more edgy now that she’s put a genus, if not species, to her stalker.  The meowing sound from generally overhead only serves to confirm that.  She can’t quite pinpoint where it came from, but she still looks up in the tigress’ general direction when she hears it.  “Not exactly talkative, hm?” she murmurs, crouching down to pick up a fallen branch roughly as thick as her wrist.  It’s not as long as she might have liked, but it’s something, at least.<br/><br/>While she’s no expert of wilderness survival or anything of the sort, she’s still picked up a few tricks from her enjoyment of walking in the woods for most of her life.  Rather than trying to directly spot the tigress, she tries to use some of the less direct clues.  She watches the foliage for movement, her eyes following the trail of moving branches or leaves left in Tamara’s wake.  Right now, she isn’t so much trying to find the feline as try to figure out where she’s going.  And, after getting a rough idea of that, she makes an educated guess of which way she should be backing away.