Chicken feathers? I think not!

Aryn cocked her head, slowly translating the words in her head. She picked up the anxiety in their voices, the uncertainty.

I bet we cannot catch it.

If Aryn could smile, she would. Actually, she was smiling. A very owl-ish smile. The fox wanted a chance to get away.

She hooted, "I hope you don't plan on hurting the fox..." She sighed, knowing that all they'll hear is a bunch of squawks and hoots.

Instead, swift like the wind, she flew down between the two quadrupeds. She landed and faced the wolf, making a long, deep hoot that sounded like a soft howl, looking at the wolf. She resisted the urge to annoy the wolf, knowing this might be the only chance to get close to a wolf.