Morningside Cuesta Act I, Scene I

Her pink tongue dangles between pants and she grins at his exuberance, how he quickly shifts from yearling cub to practiced hunter.

“Beaver! Don’t you smell it?” Her lungs fill with it. Pungent, ratty. The promise of a tantalizing meal at the end of a hunt.

She gives Íkaros a mischievous look, lips curling wide over her teeth. Her bony legs lift her away again to circle around him once before slipping off through the spring pastures towards the trill of a fork in the nearby river.

She sinks down into her step and stalks through the tall grass, with only an erect tail seen above the sea of green. A wet nose churns the earth like a bloodhound on mission, ears twisting to check for Íkaros steps beside her’s.

“Let’s find their trail,” She whispers to him before falling back into the brush.