Rosewater Oasis fear the vulture and the vulture will come

There is freedom to be felt, soaring high through the skies. To be granted the right to float alongside the clouds is a gift. Right?

Wrong.

To the grounders, maybe it all sounds like a dream... one that cannot be fulfilled. But for those that can actually take to the skies, it is a curse. 

Weak, are they. Dependent on their wings to advert an unseemly death from those that would wish it upon them. Or more realistically, those that want to rip away their feathers and eat them. On the ground, there is no safety. The skies are not in fact their freedom, but their prison. And not all take kindly to being imprisoned. 

It is a hot day, this one. A day in which forces Sceledrus, one of the more veteran flighted creatures, to seek a low‐branched tree for a much needed rest. Wings flopped tiredly beside himself, he observes the ground with an idle stare. 

What grounders may stumble upon him this day? A hooved beast, wandering the wrong path? Some random lunatic he has no care for? Or perhaps that coyote, @Tumbleweed, that for some reason holds an odd interest in his presence? But hey—why should he complain? The idiot brings him such an easy meal, day after day. He needn't even fight for it, as no others hover near to vye for the scraps. Inching further along the branch now, he is suddenly brimmed with a hungered hope.