Haunted Wood the hell in your eyes

Thuringwethil has never given birds much thought other than the occasional annoyance or meal. She’d never been skilled in hunting them and some where too small to even bother with, including the one taunting her on with fur of her mate (or daughter).

She stares for a long moment, only watching the rift of fur fall for a few seconds. The croak pulls her gaze back up, watching, and then after several seconds of consideration, the commander steps forward to close the distance.