Porcupine Ridge shaking the wings of their terrible youths

the prey here is enough to warrant a return to the ridge, but beside the partride caught earlier that day her hunt is unsuccessful. the skies above remain dismal and grey, spitting out a shower of rain that laces her caught with dozens of gleaming dots of light now and again. she remains damp, fur spiking together and hackles poking out especially. she roves the ridge without much purpose, now, hunt more or less abandoned in lieu of wandering with heavy thoughts and rain-soaked skin.