Meadowlark Prairie I hope it's already too late

she notices that he does not recoil when his eyes trace the broken side of her face.  good.  many young boys did.  most young girls. maybe it was the scars of his own.  she rolls her tongue over a small trickle of blood from a shallow scratch the eagle had landed.  she hadn't noticed it.  it did not seem to bother her.

he leaves the decision up to her.  she makes it swift.  had she known the moral crisis he'd had over whether or not to kill the predator, she would not have offered him the eagle.  without this foresight, she watched him eyeball the bird and swept up the rabbit with a broad stroke of her forelimb.

ingrid's fangs tore the lapine's fine, limp appendages like an adult might rip apart a child's toy.  she swallowed them quicker than some might have expected.

she would wait for him to pause before saying,  thank you for the help.