Silver Moraine chain hits my chest

The sound of a stranger approaching reached her before the scent of it did, and her head lifted in alertness. Black ears sought out the footfalls, guiding green eyes to find the source. Magpie's body tensed when the dark form finally entered her view, and she stood perhaps a little taller— a defense mechanism, born of instinct, though the other didn't seem to feel the same, for its posture and gait were relaxed. The Corvidae turned her head towards the breeze, though her eyes never left the approaching silhouette, and she tasted the air to glean what she could.

Her tension was not born of challenge or dominance; it was meant only as defense, should the other think she would be an easy sport. Tales of cannibalism were rare, of course, but when they were told, it was often with the desperation of winter as a backdrop. It was too late to run to avoid an encounter, and so Magpie merely stood and waited— for the other clearly wished to cross her path, or its course would have altered already.