Wapun Meadow I sip the liquor but it's much too harsh,

eugh. buzzard was right, of course, even puffing out their scraggly mud-caked chest. condor fancied they could see insects crawling around in there; they were practically cultivating their own ecosystem. if there was one thing you could count on, it was on wolves to have no sense of taste.

and vulture, of course. condor would say a prayer for her taste in both flower fields and idiot men.

“don’t you long for our old canyon?” condor said, looking sadly to the sky and getting a raindrop directly to the eye for his trouble. “this rain is enough to make one question their decision to steal everything and run. and the flowers were so much prettier at home.” he sighed, thinking wistfully of their home. so pretty, so warm, so not flooded by rain.

ah, but they were scavengers, in the end. stealing was their game. what could you do.