Meadowlark Prairie I hope it's already too late

early one morning she ventured northeast from her makeshift hovel in the woodlands.  past the rock and sand lie a meadow that managed to retain parts of its color in these barren winter conditions.  ingrid's lope was even and steady as she crossed the gentle hills of the prairie.

she caught the eagle's descent, but paid it little mind until its writhing silhouette drew her forward.  it had caught a rabbit, if one could call it that -- "caught" was a charitable word for what she observed.  the rabbit's mouth was twisted open but no sound came out.  its body lay sliced and bleeding on the ground, but the eagle could not take it.  when it stopped flailing, it favored one leg.

on the other side of this commotion was another wolf.  ingrid attempted to lock eyes with the young man, gestured with her muzzle at the creatures.  she lowered her massive body to a crouch and began a silent approach from behind.  she knew no mercy.  a free meal in the winter was a gift from the earth, and if the wolves were either talented or lucky, both of them would be blessed.