Morningside Cuesta i feel it move through me

Rabbits were difficult to hunt in the winter, but Magpie was— at this point— an expert. She had spent much of her life as a lone wolf, and hare meat had sustained her more times than she could count while she had been unattached. The Corvidae never thought of herself as a hunter, but she was skilled in the maneuvers required for small-game hunting. It's because of Peregrine, she realized. He had wanted her to be Gamekeeper, those years ago, and when he turned his back on her the first time she bucked the idea of ever making a name for herself through something so essential as hunting.

But she needed it, now. For once, Magpie decided to embrace her talents. Her ears stood alert, pivoting this way and that to listen for the tell-tale scramble of feet beneath the snow. She borrowed her winter technique from foxes— listening, then diving when a rodent made the fatal error of coming too close. Before she could, the weighted sound of a wolf approaching interrupted her effort— and she sighed, knowing she'd need to abandon the hunt at least temporarily. Her prey would know the noise and scatter.

She turned and moved toward him, loosing a growl of warning in her frustration. Normally amicable, she would not forgive him the unintended interruption. He could be the reason she might starve this winter, and with a flagging tail that told him in no uncertain terms that he should not follow, the Corvidae moved to put some distance between them that she might find some other snack.