Sun Mote Copse Hot chicken.

Woaaaah, exclaimed the wide-eyed pup. She'd never seen lunch in this format before. Usually it came out of her parents' mouths in a pink, mushy slurry and that she gorged herself on without thinking too much about how gross that all was. Sometimes it came in the form of a hunk of meat. She'd never really made the connection between her food and where it came from, but seeing the bird trying to escape made something click into place.

Just as Towma anticipated, the pheasant's movements triggered the part of Alyx's brain where her instincts lived. She didn't need any instructions; she was already stalking toward it with a miniature hunter's aspect, her back straight and her tail flung out at half-mast behind her. Her ears and eyes alike followed the pheasant's movements, and when it flapped its wings, she surged forward and pounced on it.

Her teeth were in its back before she knew what she was doing, and she was suddenly seized by the urge to shake it, which she did with great vigour. Neither her grip or her force was correct, so all she succeeded in doing was causing the wounded bird to panic more, but it sure was fun. She giggled madly while its wings buffeted her in the face, refusing to let go.