Ouroboros Spine on the wing

The sounds of a brief struggle - a rustling, the muffled squeak of some mammal's breath being extinguished, and subsequent silence - piqued Altai's interest, and she dropped out of the pine, coasting down to ground level and scouring the undergrowth with a sweep of her beady eyes. She landed in a mottled patch of sun and flicked her wings, warily scanning the immediate area before hopping back into the air and investigating the next patch of clearing. Her sense of smell was poor but her eyesight more than compensated, and she had barely cleared the next bend before she saw the wolf's retreating form. There, in the wolf's wake, lay a partially consumed carcass.

Food for a raven was plentiful in the summer and she was in no dire need of sustenance, so Altai did not pounce upon it, but she glided down to the woodland floor and landed several yards away to gauge the wolf's reaction. She didn't particularly feel like squabbling over it, but if the wolf would tolerate a few scraps stolen, it wouldn't hurt to test the hunter's tolerance.