Lake Bismuth I don't know what to do without you

he paid no mind to the wolf now that he was crossing wide swaths of terrain from above, free of obstacles.

what might take a wolf time and effort to hike, qapnuk could cover in moments.

there were notes of something rancid in the air, now. perhaps the wolf would come to notice this too, but for qapnuk the scent - and taste - was immediate and alluring. he clacked his beak and turned his head, that long featherless neck shifting to point him in the correct direction.

the grass was gold, everywere—until it wasn't. it appeared to rust. the color concentrated just over another hill, and it is to this spot that the vulture soars, circling. the body of something large—maybe a pronghorn, maybe a foal of some kind—was lost among the golden tendrils of the grass.

he gives a croak of glee, but does not descend.