Deepwood Weald the scavenger feeds in hum of low sea

greyjay waits. for what, she is not immediately sure, but she has remained a shadow too long to disentangle herself so quickly. he moves, then, and she half-rises, expecting him to continue on. but he only shifts, looking then, to her; or in the very least in her direction. the coyote is motionless a short moment, and then rises to step lightly across the ridge, moving parallel too and slightly toward him. 

abruptly, after perhaps a dozen short moments, she pauses, turns toward him, and perches once more on her rump. auds press forward, muzzle angled toward him with a strange intensity. she remains a distant (yet slightly closer, now) silhouette, not stupid enough to make any attempt at confrontation and yet unwilling to move just as quickly into the wood.