The Tangle queen so strong thought she was a machine

a dust-colored bird with a white breast navigated the long spikes of the branch it stood upon with ease.

in its beak a writhing mouse fought. the bird canted its head from one side to the other, slowly — and then!

a sound unlike any miette had ever heard: the soft grunt of something piercing flesh. the bird flew away, the mouse left to struggle against the long blade that now pierced clean through its stark white belly.

miette watched until the mouse moved no more. a quiet settled in the brush as she rose, idly wandering off in the direction the bird had flown.