The Tangle The stick, the thorn, the briar

She kept both keen yellow eyes trained to the fumbling, scurrying creature that floundered amid the rocky footing of her surroundings, watching it dart in front and then back to the right. She was statuesque, then on the move as quiet as she could manage even when the scent of an adult male wolf drifted into the fringes of her greedy awareness. While she had no indication that he had any intent to approach her she was committed in her efforts not to turn away and lose sight of the small mammal she hunted. Suddenly, however, she couldn’t put off noticing him any longer. He’d hunted her, and her unwitting prey had been made all the wiser. The tiny creature, no more than a morsel, had opted for flight.
 
With a quick turn of her head, she shot him a look and set him with a deadpan stare. He was physically sound, she surmised, and near to if not already in his prime. Fenix was absolutely horrid with guessing age, though, and for all she could really tell he was eligible to be her father’s age as much as he might have been a vernal frat boy.

She didn’t respond to his question. “You frightened my lunch,” she alleged with a frown that simply didn’t check out when her feathery tail began to wave behind her.