Panther Park you said it feels good, i said i’ll give it a try

It was times like these, when the weather dropped 30 degrees overnight, that Olive realized how deep they were into winter. The snow fell heavy snow, and the tree branches bowed under the weight of it, and all scent trails were absolutely deadened so the dove sought refuge amongst the forest. She had always been a wolf of the forest, one who liked the darkness and appreciated how the strong arbors shielded her from the buffeting winds. It always seemed to be a sacred, safe place —​ although it almost never was. 

After a brief respite, the sylph managed to scent prey and followed her nares to a skinny marmot, similarly brought about by the absence of snow beneath the wood's canopy. Hungry and wishing for a meal, Olive assimilated with the shadows; stepping lightly and deliberately so that her presence would remain undetected. She tried not to think about this action — the killing — too much; a diet of leaves and berries was a luxury that her solitude could no longer afford. 

When Olive eventually began her charge, the creature fluttered and skittered across the landscape towards a rocky place amongst a thicket of low-lying, dead trees. With this sudden change in terrain, the featherlight woman understepped, stubbed her foot and tumbled lightly against the earth. Though she sprang right back up, a sudden twinge of pain caused her to pause in her pursuit — and her muzzle shot down to immediately begin licking at her smarting paw. One of her long nails had been cropped; torn off by the mislaid contact with the ground. 

The marmot sneered and escaped, leaving its huntress [who entertained a deep understanding of karma and karmic law] to whine and lick at her bleeding paw.

The eagle was new to the territory, gliding through the air above the trees easily as he allowed the wind to keep him up. His eyes were the ground below, searching for any signs of movement. He caught the wolf, though her white fur didn't stand out among the snow. But, his sharp eyes remained focused on her.

He watched as she hunted, unsuccessfully, a marmot. He swooped down silently about the same time she fell, his wings carrying him quickly to the escaping marmot. His talons reached out and he grabbed the prey, sinking his claws into its flesh. Quickly, he flapped his wings to carry him to the nearest branch. Once landed, he looked towards the wounded wolf. Are you okay? he questioned.

Olive was distracted, nursing her innocuous [yet stinging!] wound, and barely knew the raptor was there. It sailed down silently, more silently than Olive could ever hope to be, and in a flash of feathers — reaped her reward. In that moment of silent attack, the feathered creature was impossible to ignore. 

Standing in shock, Olive’s jade gaze supervened the form flitting up to a nearby bough and settling down. The shewolf was familiar with these folk, as she was a creature of their communal forest and did not deign to believe that lupine life was the only matter of intelligence here. Olive communed with birds often — more in her past than she did now, as before she had been accompanied by her father and non-wolf beings always seemed to hold him in high regard — but she always appreciated their keen perspective. Birds always had a good story to tell, or a parable to share.

The creature asked if she were alright and the druid glanced down at her paw; it was fine, but the small amount of blood that resulted dotted the snow with a cardinal red. Olive sighed, nodding her head in slow affirmation. “Oh, I have always been jealous of those with wings…” The lamb’s voice was light and wishful, as this was very much the truth! Olive had a wanders spirit, meant to live and be experienced in multiple dimensions! But, instead, she was stuck on the earth, upon these four pointed limbs, and the only direction she could ever move in was down. Olive could not help but sound somewhat forlorn. “You make it look so easy.” Hunting, which took so much effort from Olive, was something the bird accomplish so easily! The woman tried to ignore that fact that there was a corpse near them — mostly for the fact that she had, unwillingly and unwittingly, tried to hunt it herself and failed — but death always made her uncomfortable. 

“I am no good at it…”