Seaside Moors meat, blood, and feather

She hated to eat birds-- they were messy, and their feathers never seemed to leave your teeth or your fur. But she needed to eat, and at present, the thought of seafood made her stomach turn. Perhaps it was a temporary nutrient deficiency that made her crave meat other than fish-flesh, though she did not question her instinct. Morrighan chased down a gull, and upon retrieving her prize from the air before it could take full-flight, she lay down and began to tear its feathers from its flesh.

It protested the treatment, of course, though a broken wing meant it could not escape her-- and after a moment, she had crushed its neck in an act of mercy. When its belly was mostly clear of feathers (and her mouth, too), Morrighan took a bite of its soft body. It was a quick and boney meal, but it took the edge off the worst of her hunger.

Licking her chops clear of meat, blood, and feather, the she-wolf stood and surveyed the area. She was nomadic, a vagrant-- there was nothing, in particular, that she was searching for. She had given up on finding answers long ago, and the lack of predefined destiny or familial ties was overwhelming and oppressing rather than freeing, as some might find it. She passed from day to day, surviving but aimless.

And so she chose a direction and began to walk, for it didn't truly matter what she might find.