Wapun Meadow No Admittance (Except on party business!)

In all his years he had been contested by bigger beasts than this, and was undeterred when the wolf came for him again, again, again. Ducking back from the teeth when they came, or hopping, reaching with a half-open wing as counter-balance; always lingering somewhere close to the corpse.

When the wolf spoke to him the bird fanned its wings out, inflated itself with a lift of its shoulders and angular tilt to its face, as if to make itself bigger; he was big, he knew that, success bred strength in him. Intimidation aside, his bald red face gleamed against the swarthy backdrop of feathers and he clattered his beak — clack clack, for yes.

Then he lunged; lifting those wings as if he meant to herd the dark hound, thrusting his breastbone towards the gap between the bodies living and dead. Out of him poured an animated laughter the likes of which grated on the ears as he tried to warn away the wolf, so impatient was he for a meal.

If he did not get his way now, he would wait, but it would be done. Best to let him get on with it before the flies set in, he thought.