Wapun Meadow and sit with their pictures until they grow o-o-o-o-old

The pirate swayed onto the snowy landscape. The liquid fire of his gaze latched onto a shadow who was crouched, prepared for her prey, and he waited with a smile on his watchful expression. The narrow length of his muzzle dipped to drink in the scent that she provided; the girl with violet eyes was with a number of others.
 
Shadow leapt and dove into the lump of snow on the ground. Bones drew his tongue along the warm chestnut hairs of his muzzle. To steal a mouse from a stranger would be unwise, he knew. Still, the scent of blood – no matter how miniscule – was enough to churn his stomach and send him moving forward, slight frame swaying with each step.
 
“Fine catch,” the pirate’s voice cracked against the chilly air. A wicked smirk settled onto his dark lips and the bandit paused some few yards away from the dark stranger and her hard eared reward.