Duck Lake looking like a snack

A laudatory bark is detected. It is paid no mind, his stomach dictating everything he does. With the taste of blood in his mouth, he wrestles with outside stimulus. Eat first, investigate later.

And eat he does, plucking the duck's feathers with rapidity before riving on the delicacy underneath. The duck is larger than most. Still a morsel to the likes of him. He is as bestial as his appetite, so the duck is eaten within a span of minutes.

He shifts back onto the frozen loam of the lake, perceptions fixed on the remaining waterfowl. Most of them have flown off. The few that remain are on high alert. Some are vivified by his amble, issuing a quack! to let others know.

She mingles well with their snowy surroundings, her fur a washed-out quality as if blanched by an untiring sun. Apprehension keeps him at a distance. She may have had the mind to keep away from his food but his fight with that lunatic is still fresh in his mind. So he stops three wolf lengths away, enkindling with a receptive woof should she want to come closer or chat. Whichever is fine.

Unbeknownst to him, down sticks to his muzzle. Some are white while others are scarlet.