Kildeer Rest far out - freak out

the sight of red-feathered birds coasting lazily through the clarity of blue skies had lured geneva from the woods. she was not sure what she was watching at first, thinking they could be eagles, as they liked to watch the earth and stealthily collect small things (or fish along the seaside); but these creatures she spied were smaller, narrower of conformation. the bruxous tone to their feathers - even from a distance - marked them as different from any raptor she had ever seen. there was no sea here that she could see or smell, and not much ground cover, which made travelling easier for her (thankfully).

the ground was pock-marked where the grass grew thin. some gorse stabbed through melting snow, and to one such mound the wolf drifts, head bent low. she sniffs at the patch and as she passes over it, kicks with a hind paw. dull claws uproot strands and leave a mark behind; a habit from simpler days she has yet to shake. nobody will be coming to find her, she reasons a moment later. everyone is dead now.

the silhouetted hawks shrink as they catch a gust and are carried away. geneva pauses to look around at the mess of boulders and dirty snow all around herself, and as she takes a deep breath something does register: the smell of rodents. whether they are squirrels or rats (or something else altogether) doesn't matter much to her - she needs food, and this place is abundant with it. perhaps her luck is turning.

@Ego