Grouse Thicket mine, windbag, mine

For the attention of pack wolves, perhaps someone from Silver Creek?? But all are welcome!

She tore the feathers from a large duck she had caught. It wasn't her favorite meal, for the mess of feathers and the way they stuck to your fur and in your mouth, but food was food when you were a drifter. Beggers couldn't be choosers, and she needed the nourishment. When the worst of the feathers were shorn away, Cypher cracked its breast bones between her jaws and began to consume the bird's torso.

"Not enough meat," she muttered, before proceeding to brush her teeth repeatedly over her tongue— eyes squinting— in an attempt to remove the bone splinters from her mouth.