Gyrfalcon's Keep There's an albatross around your neck

Phocion couldn't resist a grin as Anita's expression became suffused with excitement at his mention of the beach. The white wolf preferred snowcapped mountains, but the warm sand on the beach was a pleasant change of scenery. Kicking up the stuff, and looking for treasures beneath, was not a bad way to spend the afternoon.

She agreed to the hunt, and Phocion rose to four feet, gazing around at the flock surrounding them. "They're flighty things," he noted, nodding up at one example, who had taken to the skies in a rapid flurry of feathers after a pelican attempted to steal his meal. "You have to be quiet, and fast. You really only get one shot with healthy birds. Wolves, unfortunately, have not yet learned how to fly."

He caught sight of a particularly intriguing specimen, who was busy picking idly at some fish bones just a few feet away. "That looks like a good prospect," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Anita, pointing his nose at the potential meal. Creeping some extra inches closer, Phocion was able to successfully nab the bird after a powerful pounce, giving the gyrfalcon a killing blow to the neck before carrying it back to Anita, its body dangling limply from his jaws.

"Look for duh oneth that are dithtracted," he mumbled through the mouthful of prey, then set the bird at his feet. "Good luck."