Blackfeather Woods about it

The avian righted himself and, realising he wasn't set upon again, sat disgruntled on the ground. Catching his breath with a talon curled to try and relieve the pain.
He glared daggers at the wolf.
She'd started it; he'd attacked her properly.

Whatever.
He cooed softly, puffing out his feathers. He didn't want to be here any longer. It was chilly, dark and full of things that he didn't like.
He clicked his beak once and absconded from the woodland, navigating his way through the trees. Eyes on the birds that may or may not come for him, though perhaps they thought he'd suffered enough.
He guided himself eastwards, hoping to find a place to roost before snow descended again.