A heron, haloed by the retreating sun, stood watchful at the creek's edge. It stands there for a few minutes and then begins to walk, head bobbing forwards, until it strikes down and with a spearing of its beak, the heron has caught its dinner — a salamander.
A second stilted figure stalks the creekside, where the trees meet the dark. They stare at one-another as the heron swallows its meal, still squirming, and then it spreads its wings and takes flight; not afraid of the wolf, only satisfied by its success and ready for another try elsewhere, without the audience.
The wolf chuffs softly and continues to prowl, alone again.
A second stilted figure stalks the creekside, where the trees meet the dark. They stare at one-another as the heron swallows its meal, still squirming, and then it spreads its wings and takes flight; not afraid of the wolf, only satisfied by its success and ready for another try elsewhere, without the audience.
The wolf chuffs softly and continues to prowl, alone again.
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