The Sunspire rolling with the summer breeze

Nightingale was racing down the mountainside, chasing a young rabbit that ran in terror in front of her, and she gave chase. Given her blind eye, she was a poor hunter, which had caused her to lose the advantage of surprise when she had stalked her prey. So, instead of making a quick and clean kill, she instead scrambled to catch up to her meal.

She was almost upon it, it was only a few more feet of catching up. But then she tripped on a root, rather clumsily. She cursed as she tumbled, seeing the cottontail or the rabbit disappear from sight before she fell into a final face-plant. She stood up and shook the dirt off her fur, grumbling in annoyance. It was then she saw the captive.

The half-year wolf stared, unsure of what to do or say. Instead, she felt a creeping blaze of anger. She part of the pack that had chased Ferdie out. Part of a pack that had liars for leaders. The flame of fury glimmered in both her clear and murky eye, and a look of annoyance slowly crept up onto her face. Slowly, the juvenile began to walk away, muttering.