Grouse Thicket Fool and King, Ghoul and Goose

Nynka's ear barely twitched at the little growl; if birds were stupid enough to stand their ground and mutter dire threats at her, then she would simply laugh at them as she gleefully took them one after another by the neck. The shrill shriek, however, caught her attention more firmly. She gave the grouse she had caught a swift, vicious shake, clamping her teeth down as deep and hard as she could as she made sure the thing's neck was broken and it was well and truly dead. Then she eagerly dropped it to the ground and hopped her forelegs over it, standing astraddle the feathery corpse's kinked neck and head as her bright eyes and quivering whiskers swiveled along with her head to locate the screamer. Had another of these stupid birds gone and injured itself? Was today going to serve up a bonus double-helping of grouse to her?! She could already practically feel the drool collecting at the corners of her mouth at the thought.

As Nynka's little pink tongue darted eagerly across her lips, however, her eyes landed on the quivering shadow that was in fact decidedly unbirdlike in nearly every important way. Her whiskers instantly drooped and her face fell into a freshly grumpy pout of disappointment. Yeah, there was no way that was a grouse in disguise, as her nose clearly informed her now that she had a moment to take in what the still-settling skirls of air were offering up to her senses. It was just some young dumb wolfbrat doing its best to play a screaming fuzzy pillbug, and all on its lonesome so far as the scents in the area indicated. If she had been especially hungry and desperate, she might have chanced to see what it might taste like; as it was she had way tastier and more important critters to concern herself with, here.

Better be careful, she sniped at the youngster, as she turned back to the object of greater interest. Keep making noises like that and acting like prey, and you just might turn into one. Her voice was both sincere and disinterested, as (ignoring the ruckus some of its more brethren were raising some small distance above and away, still—none of it reached nearly the volume the little black wolf's lungs had, anyhow) she began to rip speckled downy feathers from the luckless bird she'd caught. Ordinarily she would have set right in to heckling the little beast but truth be told, this one looked like it'd wilt quicker than an autumn flower if she so much as looked at it cross-eyed. She wasn't sure how much sport there would really be to be had, here, now that the rest of the birds had vanished and left only this pathetic mewling creature in their wake.