Otter Creek And the book you write's magnificent

tiny post for u

From the speckled mountain did the stricken wing; the burnished feathers of a failed haulment in her fur; the origins of which that would remain unknown, lest she wander into into another rare-ish presence amongst these foothills. Foolish, to lob herself upon the golden fiends of that mottled peak; they who had become so few and far in between since her initial and first with Dagwood. But as per the new usual, food had become scarce, and so the courtlings had taken it upon themselves to instead sunder those prone to competition  (nevermind their neighboring nomads).

Unnoticed;
she hisses, situated within the crags; a high and thin strain at the ache that languorously lances through the tapestry through her spine. An annoyance, as of late; a hinderance, where the plucking of eagledown was concerned.

Today, perhaps, would be yet another where the valians and her self spent the hours hungering. Unless, again, there was any-thing that might ever be hunted here...