Sleepy Fox Hollow baptisia alba macrophylla

The other yearling stalked, and it took a good few minutes before Waxwing noticed him. He wouldn't be a very good hunter if he allowed himself to go on being the prey for too long. He slowed, pausing to listen, his ears swiveling around on his head.

Turning around to where he had come from, Waxwing tried to make his voice bigger than it really was. Who's there? he asked, eyes peering through the brush, seeking movement.