Wild Berry Meadow fast enough to get in trouble but not fast enough to get away

He emerged without complaint, though it was likely she would've found him before long anyway.  His stature was commanding, his peridot green orbs glinting fire in the fading sunlight.  She trailed over the puckered flesh on his shoulder as her jaw set.  Siarut.  It was familiar to the gaelic of her own name.  A single flew perked in the ghost of a smile.  Ceara.  

If Siarut was slow to warm, the phoenix was perhaps slower.  Still, he had complimented her, and the closest way to getting anywhere with the firebrand was by inflating her ego.  Sometimes, Little Dragon.  She grabbed the second of the mallards and tossed it in his direction before swiftly moving a forepaw over her own kill.  What brings you out here?