Howling at the Moon

The wolf-talking owl had spent the day sleeping in Sunspire territory, and spent this evening flying out away from the Sunspire. She may be an ally and friend to the pack, but she was still an owl, and not a major part of anything.

The owl landed on a rocky ledge, and preened her feathers for the next few minutes. Her thoughts were away, thinking about the year. She was considerably old now, in her prime years, say it were. She was around the average age for an owl, and had yet to find a mate.

That didn't matter at this point. If she mated, she mated, if she didn't she didn't. It wasn't that hard. Taking flight, the owl spent the next half hour hunting the first of six voles of the night. When she caught here quarry, she would dive into a kill spiral and reach out with her talons at an alarming rate, scooping up her meal back into the air.

She sat back down on a rocky ledge and began to swallow the meal whole, mind adrift and daydreaming- er, night-dreaming.