Duck Lake in the belly of the beast

Menta huffed the duck out of her mouth, pleased with herself as it thumped onto the ground. It hadn't been the most prideful of a hunt - the fowl looked pathetic as it dragged its broken left foot behind it in an effort to get back to the water and away from the wolf - but a meal was a meal. Pleh, pleh, the cream wolf thought as she licked away a stray feather from her maw. It also hadn't been the cleanest of kills with all of those feathers flying in the duck's panicked attempt of an escape.

The cream wolf hadn't been nearly as hungry now that she was a pack member again, and so she had taken a moment to choose where she wanted to feast on her prize. Water sparkled in the reflection of her yellow eyes as she sat closer yet to the lake than she had to get by chasing the slow-moving duck. Many still living quackers made their presence noisily known far away from her, perhaps distraught at their friend's demise and her swift execution, and Menta noted that perhaps it would be a generally good hunting spot if there were so many.

Tail wagging at her own accomplishment, the Ryūjin wolf turned her attention back away from the fowl on the lake to the dead one before her. Time to enjoy her catch in more than just a visual manner, she thought, as she began her miniature feast.