Wapun Meadow a hellish glow of hot orange

On nimble paws and with a swift snap of his jaws, the coyote had downed the bird. It relinquished its life with a strangled warble before its limp frame swung from the predator’s mouth. The hen’s limbs jerked one last time and then ceased all movement. The death of the bird did not phase the hunter; she would not have been the first of her kind to fall against the sharp knives of the stalker.
 
The catcher of the kill turned to Tadec with a mossy green stare. A burning feeling began in his toes and flourished as he felt it stretch belong his spindly limbs and upward toward his chest. At last, the fire reached his skull, and the coyote dropped the bird against the earth before turning and slinking away. The thief followed him with a quiet desperation – a pining for the means to understand this, his kin – but he said nothing. After several long moments, the crow drew his skull and yipped into the evening air a word of gratitude for the dark jaguar. He collected the bird and vanished into the darkness himself.