Meadowlark Prairie I hope it's already too late

While he was a predator and felt little pain when he made his kills, it did feel odd to look another meat-eater in the eye and not feel compelled to feel some empathy. It looked angry, not scared. Its adult plumage hadn't even come in- it'd be another year before it sported the white hood of its kind, and that was only if it survived this poor judgement call. Bronco had just begun to convince himself he'd be just as well off if he let the eagle be when he noticed a dark shape approaching from beyond the eagle. 

He didn't recognize her, but her gaze was intense, questioning- and he knew the look. An invitation to cooperate and perhaps feed the both of them- and the call of his own kind pulled him roughly against his own empathy. She wanted to kill the eagle- she'd gestured toward it with a motion of her jutting jaw- and she wanted him to help. 

It wouldn't survive, he told himself. It wouldn't be able to perch. Shock, infection- it'd have a slow death. Still be felt sorry, but he lifted himself from his crouch and began to approach the bristling bird, keeping its attention on him while danger crept up closer from behind.