Hushed Willows i always make such expensive mistakes.

DAMNIT.

Artaax's jaws closed on empty air. He attempted to recover, darting forward and snapping again as it sped away, but he didn't bother taking more than a couple of steps towards the mouth of the den in pursuit. He knew well enough that if he didn't catch the bird in his first lunge, then his chances of success were very, very slim. Birds were too quick. It was what he loved and hated about hunting them. They were so difficult to catch, but that made the victory even sweeter.

But he wouldn't taste that sweetness today. Artaax frowned out into the wall of white for a moment before turning back into the inky blackness of his temporary shelter. His meal from earlier that day would just have to tide him over until morning. As he settled in at the back of the den to wait out the storm, he consoled himself that the tiny creature would hardly have made a difference anyway. He would sleep and dream of eagles instead.