Redhawk Caldera I'm the holy water you can't live without

The sky was dark and stormy, but a lack of unsettling anxiety told Nightjar this storm was much less severe than the previous one. There would be no spinning wind or trees flying around. The standard thunder-and-lightning variety was all they could hope for, and he wasn't afraid of thunder or lightning, so he continued pacing around the inner rim of the caldera.

The water level had fallen considerably, but he was unobservant at the best of times and hardly noticed. His attention was instead on a muskrat perusing the shoreline, somewhere in the distance. He had spotted its dark figure from far away, a testament to the power of his senses, and had been closing in on it for close to ten minutes now. He moved slowly, deliberately, but without much stealth. He had no use for that; if the muskrat thought he was harmless, it wouldn't flee. He kept enough distance to give it that impression.

It was nervous. Nightjar could smell it. It should be. That was its lot in life: to be nervous and on edge until some greater creature like himself snatched it up (or tried to, as his success rate was about 11% at his age) and ate its innards for breakfast.