Dawnlark Plains redthroat

Something had awoken her in the night. By it's screams, it sounded vulpine in nature. And yet something felt terribly wrong with the way its shriek echoed about the plains.

It was curiosity that drew her from the treeline in the end. Settling into a fast lope, the little bear trekked across the frozen ground, over boulders and between snow-sandwiched shrubs until she came upon a lone pine tree. From there she continued with her nose to the ground, following the trail of blood. 

The scent soon transitioned to streaks of red, vibrant against the pristine snow. She winced and pressed on. Reaching a large boulder, sure enough said fox lay bloodied and broken beside it. Upon closer inspection, the poor thing was still breathing, albeit its inhales shallow and uneaven. With a heavy heart, Mishka approached the body, all the while ears swivelled on high alert.

May the Great Fox take this little one swiftly before whatever attacked it returned.