Barrow Fields i am not your carpet ride, i am the sky

marmots. 

she remembered hunting them what seemed hundreds of years ago, back in saltwinter. and she remembered they had been in members aplenty here, likely because for some strange reason, the fields were rarely tread by predators.

except, of course, caiaphas.

she bent down and placed her ear along the thin, crisp layer of ice-filmed snow -- and beneath the groan and the shift of the earth she heard the chattering, burrowing sound of life. the snow was too thin to house many tunnels, but following her nose she caught a fresh scent before too long.

listening intently, caiaphas alternated between listening and plunging -- and before long, the sylph had a small pile (mostly juveniles) of dispatched rodents ready for ankyra's growing cache.