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

@Tusk

the grey slurry of last night gave way to a silvery-yellow dawn -- which in turn evolved into a blustery spring day. light snow fell in intermittent swaths, rippling incandescently across the meadow.

the nightshade prowled, her ears bent to the earth. somewhere under snow, the chittering of snowbound mice. astara listened, listened, listened, froze ...

and pounced headfirst into the snowpack.

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.

piercing the snowpack with a brittle crack, astara's paws landed upon and crushed the body her keen ears had heard above the snow. closing her jaws around the mouse with a snap, astara withdrew from the delve and froze.

ahead, the lurking figure of a wayfarer: her gaze locked with the molten hues of the man's eyes warily, waiting for him to state his intention.

the mouse, stilled between her jaws, was gripped tightly -- only the tail and a tiny paw visible between clean teeth. those too swiftly disappeared down her gullet. apprising the agouti with a sense of suspicion, astara sniffed the cold air between them and read of no other presence in the vicinity.  she did not trust the smile that hung from his features, but with no rejoinder to his compliment, astara raked her paws against the snow and continued listening for any other signs of life beneath the snowpack.

Peculiar, intense, the shadow of a woman turned to him with cutting violet eyes. The mouse between her teeth was perfectly still before she swallowed it whole and returned to her hunt beneath the snow.
 
Billy Bones watched her for a moment more, taking very little offense from the pointed stare that had been offered to him – a statement without the use of words. The nimble male lowered his muzzle to the snowcap and sniffed. There wasn’t much beneath it. It was more likely that the dark female had frightened away any remaining mice. Bones scratched at the top of the snow absentmindedly before turning back to the woman and waiting to see if she would find something more.

this one was at ease with the burdensome silence that was astara's world; she flashed a quick look his way as he scratched the snow.

her muzzle cut a razor's edge mark along the powdery snow, ears tilted and panning. no noise no noise no noise n-- aha!

she leapt like a shadowed dart, seamless as a machine. when she rose from the snow a squirming mouse was thrown from her jaws and in the stranger's direction.

The feral girl was quick to dive into the white plume and emerge with another small creature clutched between her pointed ivories. Billy Bones watched her with a warm glow in the lava orange of his eyes. The creature struck the snow and attempted to squirm, but the pirate lunged for it and swallowed the beast whole.
 
He had seen her do it twice and had found the logistics of the action to be easy enough.
 
With pointed ears, the male followed the sound of scurrying beneath his paws. When something from under the snowcap sounded with scratching claws and nearly inaudible squeaks, Bones leapt into the air and sunk his muzzle deep into the drift. When he emerged, a polecat was clasped in his jaws.
 
A token of thanks, the sea wolf thought and threw the weasel to the dark woman without a word.

astara knew the stranger was studying her; in a way, his watchfulness seemed to feed into her movements -- every step a bit more graceful, every move a bit more lethal.

she met his gaze slyly. he dove.

when he crested the snow a squirming weasel was held in his jaws -- a far more intrepid catch than either of hers had been.

she chuffed - partially in approval, partially in ruefulness. 

she seized the thing before it even managed four paws in the snow -- holding it by its squealing skull, she playbowed and drew the polecat's struggling form against the snow enticingly.