Big Salmon Lake runaway

Aneira held her ground as the vulture flared his wings, the pale slits of her eyes narrowing beneath her brow. The rumbling in her throat grew low and steady, a warning rolling from the chest like distant thunder. Her hackles lifted only slightly, enough to say don’t test me.
As the bird sputtered and kicked up water and grit, she turned her head slightly, the dust pattering against her shoulder like so much ash. Her gaze returned to him, slow and sharp, unmoved. Then, with a quiet step forward, she raised her head high, ears angled forward, asserting presence without needless noise.
She didn’t lunge, didn’t growl louder. But her silence was thick with the promise that if he flapped or hissed one beat more, she would strike. Only when he scrambled back far enough to seem no longer a nuisance did she let the tension bleed from her spine, the frost in her posture melting into indifference. „If you cannot fly, then crawl. But do it away from me.” Whatever he’d been screeching about, she doubted it was worth the effort of chasing feathers.