Lost Creek Hollow Gateway

Katya gave Grayday an answering chuff. Ready.

The silvery form shot from the dense brush into the clearing. She was upwind from their target, but the turkey didn't seem to notice her until she was on top of it, delivering a swift bite to its thin neck, tearing through tendon and throat. The rest of the rafter began to scatter, honking. One darted stupidly and brushed her flank, and she hooked it with a claw, unable to resist the opportunity.

Katya looked to Grayday, her face warming in embarrassment. If she had known how clumsy the birds were in a panic, she wouldn't have been so rigid about the hunt. The fat uncoordinated turkeys were far different from the wary osprey and eagles she had mastered hunting in her birthplace.