Blackfoot Forest A flock of metal creatures fleeing the onslaught of rust

I'm writing this while watching "Lords of Salem" with the window behind me open to the gloomy, rainy fall weather. It's the perfect vibe for this thread. (I also keep jumping when people walk by on the street.)

After a while, her eyes grew heavy and Pied dozed, her charcoal ears twitching faintly whenever a fox's cry rose into the air. Yet when heavier footfalls sounded nearby, accompanied by the stench of fresh blood, her eyes opened slowly. A white figure materialized from between the dark trees across the clearing, then approached. Even as he appraised her and spoke, Pied rose to her feet, shook some leaves off her piebald coat, then dipped her muzzle to the pale stranger. Overhead, Mag shuffled along the black tree limb and looked on in silence.

"I've only been here a few hours," she said explanatorily, sounding neither offended by his crass words, nor apologetic, just factual. Her eyes flicked upward to look at him briefly—the heterochromia giving the effect of a shadow blighting her otherwise glowing eyes—and then dropped respectfully. Despite his leering, blood-soaked figure, she did not fear him—not much could scare she who saw the dead—but she offered him the instinctual respect demanded by his superior longevity and rank. "I'm the newest Sigma and Agwe'en. My name is—" A fox screeched and she paused. "—Pied."

Mag suddenly took wing, gliding from her perch directly overhead and dropping sharply before banking and coming to rest on a tree stump across the clearing, not far from where the male had emerged moments ago. Pied blinked at the ghostly magpie, a slightly quizzical look on her face, before she controlled her expression and resumed her focus. She hadn't told anyone yet of her gift (or curse, depending on how you looked at it) and had long since learned to behave inconspicuously when observing the dead unseen by others, so as not to arouse curiosity or suspicion.