The Tangle Blame it all on yourself

The girl hidden amongst the thorns shuddered as first the weasel flashed past, followed by a blur of silver. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared- but she heard the skid of paws and the gnashing of jaws, the sounds of the weasel's bones crunching in the telltale, percussive sound of defeat. She didn't see weasels often- they were fast, and had a nasty temper. She wasn't sure what to think of a wolf who became a weasel-hunter. 

Because she didn't know, she was intrigued. She inched forward so she might peer around the edge of the deerpath, to see what the silver flash had planned for her victim. She sniffed the air, assessing her scent, and through gaps in the brambles she could just make out that the other wolf was small, like her- but perhaps longer in body. Weasel-like, herself. 

Holding her breath, she watched- wondering if the weasel was killed for amusement, food, or some other purpose.