Heron Lake Plateau Up, up, up I go to you, strangers! Whisper, strangers, my silly strangers!

Departure from the floodlands. Where the river split, she traveled up the east side of it and towards the marshy lake. She'd met a new stranger along her way, but she desired more. More, more, and more. That greedy, eating need to experience more and leech onto what these packs had to offer. There would be a way in, no? Might armies approach her? Might they take her in under their feathers in full, or extend a wing to nourish her within? What strange, strange strangers could she meet? Her nose continued pointing her to her west. Between the rivers, there cupped a land that reeked of life to her. Sweet, living life that had not met her death, and she wanted to dance in that rain; though there were more- more for her to see and meet, so she must choose!

Alas, perhaps she was a fool! Whispers west were quiet. Oh, how painful! How distraught! Legend in pain, in anguish, in terror! Oh, the silence! The devil's child bounded along, skipping over pebbles and a cousin of swamps. The water reached for the sky the longer she was here, engulfing more of the land, but in mother suns grasp, she bathed her coat of soot and ash in light. Leaning her head down to the edge, her tongue haphazardly lapped at the lake, before lifting it back up with a crooked smile on her maw. The tiny gremlin wished for more strangers! Strangers, strangers, strangers!

And there she was, alone in the sunlight like a waiting hare begging to be eaten alive. 

So, she waited for her predator.