Qeya River aggressive goose

Honk!

Phoebe had found a wayward goose. The thing’s eyes shone with malice, one wing held to its side, blood dark on its feathers. The one wing it could use flapped at the dark child. Who, for her part, just stared at it.

Weird, weird looking duck, she told herself, eyeing its long, impractical neck. Then, said long, impractical neck proved her wrong as the goose managed to grab at her leg before she could get out of its range. Phoebe’s shriek, a mix of incredulous anger and genuine fear, startled birds from the trees.

Phoebe herself had resolved to maul this motherfucker if it was the last thing she did.

wren had begun to learn the strength of a mother's intuition.
she had been asleep, dead asleep, and yet the very millisecond her child's scream shook the earth, her ears were cupped forward and her eyes popped open. her legs were still jelly as she scrambled to her feet, huffing and puffing and thundering down the rockside like a bat out of hell.
phoebe! she shouts, her daughter's name leaving her mouth before her brain could catch up to it, and so it came out more as a jumble of scattered syllables. wh-- wha'th'fuck habben? huh?
panting, blinking one eye at a time as if she were a lizard; staring down at the river's edge where her fierce, stupid, wonderful girl made a mad dash for a now panicking goose, splattered with scarlet of unknown origin. she whoops as she stumbles down the rocks, steadying herself before she reaches her girl lest her groggy brain fail her and send her falling into the snowmelt.
and then, once she's confident she won't tumble to her death, she strikes.
she swings for the feathered beast, lips curled back in a vicious display of her yellowed teeth. she and her daughter would bring this fat-tailed, bug-eyed, long-necked bitch down together.

Fuckin bit me!

The creature hadn’t really broken skin, really the clamp of its beak hadn’t done anything but bruise her. But Phoebe wasn’t above pointing her little fingers at something and sending the mama warhead at it.

The goose, seeming to realize it had gone after the wrong toothy predator, tries to run the way it had come. Phoebe watched as her ma ran past her, a flurry of teeth striking to maul the goose, and she cackled a demonic little cackle, shooting forward to grab at the weird feet of the goose, to destabilize it so her ma could grab for its dumb neck.

Even if she should have just left the goose alone, Phoebe did not care much at all.