Ankyra Sound even the sky bent around me

Raptor was not a hunter. Or at least not in the traditional sense of the word. He was a masterful scavenger and at times a cagey ambusher. But he was not a wolf to stalk and chase and otherwise exert himself trying to wrangle some living thing into dinner. Today was the exception. This shoreline was new to him and he had not yet learned where the best pickings could be had; where the tidepools were most full and refreshed regularly, what stretches of beach the tides favored with their offerings, and so on and so forth. There were three mouths to feed by number but at least ten if you counted how much his one mouth wanted.

So, the sable pirate took to pursuing a coyote. He might not have but it had swiped the dead gull he had scented and had been heading for. In a way, even this was not hunting — revenge seeking may be a better term for it. Either way, Raptor was not bound for success. He lost the coyote's trail somewhere in the trees and had nothing to show for his efforts but a long white feather that had fallen from the gull. He carried this thing in his mouth like some sort of (sad) consolation prize, grumpily chewing the stem like a cowboy might gnaw on a long sprig of hay grass.

His sour rumination on the coyote was cut short as he spotted a white wolf. Bored and irritated from the failed chase, Raptor considered how he might turn this opportunity into something good (for him). He lazily opted to plunk his arse down where he was and make a game out of seeing how long it took for her to notice him if at all.