January 29, 2020, 05:51 PM
it is grey morning when she arrives at the final stretch of her patrol. snow falls lazily from above; already she bears a light cover of white. with the lessening of the famine, the coyotes have become less brazen; their scents near the borderline are fading.
her attention is caught then by the raven that swings lower overhead, silent as it glides through the snow. auds press forward, waiting. a long moment of silence, and then another; distant, but veering in the same direction of the first. she knows what they mean, and tongue passes over her lips in unconscious anticipation. silently, she veers from her path, making to move after the carrion birds. somewhere just beyond, something is dead—or dying.
her attention is caught then by the raven that swings lower overhead, silent as it glides through the snow. auds press forward, waiting. a long moment of silence, and then another; distant, but veering in the same direction of the first. she knows what they mean, and tongue passes over her lips in unconscious anticipation. silently, she veers from her path, making to move after the carrion birds. somewhere just beyond, something is dead—or dying.