Redtail Rise Moonburn

She felt as though she couldn’t rest until the caches were properly padded. Masquerade slunk through the trees dotting the southern foothills, searching for whatever nocturnal prey she could find. She came to the edge of a small clearing lit palely by the waxing moon. Despite her soft step, she unwittingly disturbed a flock of nesting pheasants tucked among some dry winter vegetation.

Several of them took wing, startling the wolf into stillness as they burst out of hiding. Their silhouettes briefly blotted out the moonlight. Masquerade quickly recovered and trotted over to the place where the birds had been sleeping. She discovered several empty nests, still warm to the touch, and a single hen shivering on her roost.

Masque stared at the bird. Her sandy plumage blended well with the underbrush, though the night painted everything in colorless tones. Why did she not take flight? It perplexed the young Ulfr, who had never really hunted birds. It made her apprehensive and she backed away without peeling her eyes off the cowering hen.

After a few moments’ standoff, Masque suddenly sprang at the bird. Thinking of Augur’s treatment of the coyote, she closed her jaws around the pheasant’s head. The hen gave a token protest by spreading her wings, though that was all before the Ulfr crushed her skull in her teeth.

She dragged the limp body from the nest, still curious why the pheasant hadn’t tried to save herself. Perhaps she had been sick. Masquerade dropped the carcass and licked her jowls, eyes casting back toward the small depression left behind, where ten ivory eggs shone in the moonlight.