Witch's Marsh ach, ich bin des Treibens müde!

there came another scavenger, this one with words and questions. her stance remains neutral, coal-dark gaze tracing the ridges of the skull that beckons from the shadows. she blinks, dipping her muzzle down in a gesture that seems to convey respect, and yet she is silent. the jay calls again, shrill in the silence, and the shadow tugs free a chunk of sinew, tossing it upward with a quick flick of her muzzle. a flash of wings, and the morsel never lands. 

gaze returns to the skull, the shadow reclining on her haunches as she remains perched. auds sweep forward, and her head cants in silent question, intrigue tempted by the voice beneath the facade of decay.