Wolf RPG

She had glimpsed it a moment ago, and again now, its whippy little tail bouncing along behind its frantically-pumping hindquarters. She could hear it, as well; its panting little breaths and thunderous panicky heartbeat, and the delicious fear-laden scent of its hot-blooded little body was so strong she could practically taste the deermouse on her tongue already. It was quick, but so was she, and a wide, evil grin was pasted across her face as she darted after the tiny creature. No escape now, little mouse! Hope you've made your peace and are ready to meet your maker. Nynka put on a burst of speed, and had just outstretched her jaws to turn mouse into meal when a loud, raucously cheery voice from above startled her, stopping her in her tracks and causing her to instinctively jerk aside.

Nynka whipped her head up to search the overhanging trees. She'd been so fixated on the land just in front of her and the mouse skittering across it that she had paid virtually zero attention to the rest of her environment. It took her a moment to locate the big black-and-white bird leaning over the treelimb to peer down with somewhat unnerving interest. The shiny beak seemed to be smiling down at her from this angle, but then again when did those bizarre birdmouths not leer at all the passerby regardless of their owner's actual feelings. Despite its sharp beak and the wicked points of the talons that dug unrelentingly into the treebark though this bird did in fact actually seem to be friendly. At least for now. ...Nynka's gaze flickered back to her quarry just in time to catch the last glimpse of the deermouse's long tail as it whooshed underground and out of sight. Her own expression soured, and she stumped over with a much less bouncy stride than usual as she picked up the little thing's trail again.

Now look what you've done, she groused at the big bird as she craned her long brown neck at an angle that let her look as straight down into the mouse's hidey-hole as possible. How deep had it gone? Was it worth trying to dig it out? Maybe it was a shallow and impromptu hiding place only chosen out of desperation. Nynka was unable to see so much as a whisker down there, though, which only left one way to find out. With another quick check to make sure the bird was still firmly ensconced on its wooden perch, Nynka began a furious moment of digging. Hheeeeere little mousie-mouse, she singsonged softly, half under her breath, as her paws furiously scratched and scrabbled. You can't get away that easily...!

The dumb bird didn't seem to be in hunting mode, at least. Nynka tried to keep half an eye on it anyway as she disgruntledly scraped and scratched at what was turning out to be rather more uncomfortably pebbly a patch of soil than she had entirely bargained for. Ffff...there, now she'd gone and gotten one of the smaller flakes of rock jammed into the base of her claw; great. She glared at the offending toe as she paused in her digging to give it a good hard shake. She squinted and gave it a quick lick to be sure the rock flake was gone before she resumed her punishing attack on the soil.

I eat all the rodents! she said in the meantime, getting more and more careless of the feathery sharp-beaked beast above her as she went. Beside which, having considered the arrangement of the intervening branches and leaves, and even the hummocked-up section of root a short distance away, she didn't think it could very easily get a good angle on her down here with those wickedly long and curving claws. So. ...Ignoring it entirely seemed like a foolish idea, however, and it struck her too that if she kept the thing talking she would not only have an easier time keeping track of its location but also keep it distracted from any thoughts of possibly trying to eat her, or something. (It would also give her a little more time to widen the entrance of this burrow, in a pinch and if worse came to worst, she noted privately to herself as well.) I don't care how fancy or puffed-up any of these overgrown mice are; there's not a one of them that I won't eat if I'm in the mood for it! Okay, well, perhaps talking about meals wasn't really the best tack to be taking if this birdbrain was going to stay distracted, but with the patchy screen of leaves and branches she'd eyeballed above her Nynka was getting bolder. She was still a little more civil to this bird than some of the other and even bigger animals around that she'd encountered, though, mind you, especially with her impatience growing as she continued her fervent digging at the mousehole, here.

A few moments more of furious scrabbling ensued before Nynka stuck her pointy nose down into the excavation interrogatively, and then rocked back with a hefty sigh of disgust. The mouse was well and truly gone, or at the very least buried deep enough and hiding its scent well enough that it wasn't worth the effort to dig it up. It was only a few mouthfuls, a bare few calories whose resultant energy would at this point be exceeded by the earthmoving required to acquire them. Nynka's whiskers drooped sulkily, and she hunched her shoulders up in a brooding fashion, right before the bird's next words shot through her and made her sit up ramrod-stright in indignation.

Unable to get food—! Hhhhmmmph! Well, maybe if interfering birds didn't come swooping along and sticking their big fat beaks all up in my business...! I suppose, though, as she calmed down a little bit and was able to more-objectively assess the advantages, I suppose that if you want to try and make up for your ill manners by bringing me something, I shan't stop you.

Pretty rich of this weasel to accuse others of ill manners, for sure. Nynka shot a surly look of calculation and a touch of envy at the striated feathers resting neatly at the bird's side; a birds-eye view from the skies above was one advantage she herself could never possess. Not unless she wished to give up her weaselly nature and manage to acquire some feathers herself as a replacement, anyhow, which was out of the question no matter how much she might wish she could fly. In any case, she was not at all loathe to take as much advantage of a bird's scouting abilities to help her get a good meal, especially if she could convince this featherbrained pinhead to serve her whims exactly as she wished to dictate them. The tip of Nynka's tongue darted out to quickly skim her whiskers as her mind jumped ahead to the possibilities of trading up to bigger and better prey than some skinny little mouse: surely this bird would be capable of locating a trundling gopher or nice fat rabbit for her instead.