Bearclaw Valley Jakt

Out of the wood and into the valley, Eventyr made good progress. She swiped her tongue across her muzzle to remove the last of the prey taste that lingered there. A plump beaver had been her prize, waddling just on the edge of the forest and the open terrain. 

Drawing her snout to the passing wind to sniff, Eventyr felt uncertainty rising. Forward could be the only way. She could not journey back. 

A dark raven cawed from the woods. Her moon silver gaze rested on it with a cold expression. Eventyr chuffed lightly. The black-winged bird did not move. It appeared to cackle in the back of its throat before taking flight.