Duck Lake waterside

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the land and setting the lake aflame with gold, as if a star had fallen to earth and become trapped beneath the waves. The surface shimmered in the waning light, and the air was alive with the soft quacks and rustling feathers of a large flock of ducks.
 
It had been months since she had ventured out of the valley. Winter had driven her away, seeking refuge and strength in a distant, hidden place. Now she was back, her body restored to its former glory, muscles rippling beneath her sleek, oil-slick coat.
 
Although the scent of ducks was tantalizing, it wasn't what had drawn her here. There was another scent—one that captured her attention with a tantalizing familiarity yet carried a hint of something different. She followed it with a quiet, determined elegance, her senses finely attuned to every nuance in the air.
 
As she prowled through the dense underbrush, Grackle’s tattered ears twitched, picking up the faint, rhythmic clucking of the ducks nesting nearby. She moved like a shadow, her paws near-silent on the soft ground, eyes scanning the terrain with a predatory gleam.
 
Nestled in the thick underbrush of the aspen grove lay her target. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, the scent growing stronger, more distinct. Disappointment flickered through her as the scent became clear, but a lead was a lead, was it not?

What was it Grandfather had told her? Others were more cooperative if you greeted them with a smile, and showed interest in what they were doing. Okay. She could do this. She took a deep breath.
 
Grackle appeared next to the woman like a phantom, her lips twisted into a too-wide smile—razor sharp teeth catching the light with a flash.
 
Hunting? she asked, her voice a low, almost purring growl, adder-like eyes transfixed unblinking on the little she-wolf.