The Floodlands Flood

A melodious voice chirped to her in humorous greeting. Feyre paused, a snarl painted upon her crimson maw. A low rumble tore from her chest, a silent warning.

Part of her knew she was in the wrong, yet that savage, feral side of her needed the nutrients from this kill. 

The fae paused, amber optics flicking to the emerald eyed femme. “Three rabbits...at the end of winter?” Doubt laced her tone. In such harsh landscape, how could one find more than one of anything? Feyre’s brow quirked in interest at the fae, her eyes assessing the bloodied bones of the creature that was no more. 

Like the pale wraith she appeared to be, the fae stood. “Prove it.”