Bearclaw Valley [m] feiticeira

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a rather sickening smell lured little lita from the den.
she shivers beneath the cool coverage of shadow, sunlight filtering from between pine branches and illuminating her path. everything around her felt unusually cold for a midsummer's afternoon — but despite this, gnats seem to be clinging to her.
the clearing almost looks grey. a flock of ravens scatter at the sound of her footsteps, alerting her of their unhappiness with shrill, annoying squawks. caw! caw! ra-a-a-ah! she mimics, giggling as one swoops down over her head and disappears into the tall reeds. (yeah, that'll teach 'em!) she snaps her jaws aimlessly in the general direction they flew off toward, tail fiercely swinging into a confident wag.
she'd been having fun, scampering around and chasing them, until she steps in something warm and wet and sticky.
when she looks down, the grass is red.
and if she squints really really hard, in between a huddled mass of birds and flies, she can see the mangled remains of what looked to be the head of a coyote.