Noctisardor Bypass storms in africa

Her mother sidled up beside her with words of warning. Druid understood the gist of Sequoia’s sage advice, though she couldn’t help but look longingly at the injured bird. The way it moved excited an instinctive impulse within her, arousing an ancient lust to kill and eat. Even though she still primarily fed on mother’s milk, she recognized the feathery creature as meat.

Licking her lips, she sat, though she was not exactly still. She watched, quivering, as the bird—a young falcon—righted itself. The rain fell heavily, weighing down its feathers. For long moments, it did not move save to jerk its head from side to side. Druid whimpered quietly under her breath.

Suddenly, it began to hop! Without even realizing what she was doing, Druid ran after it. Her pelt quickly darkened in the rain but she didn’t even notice, the whole of her attention trained upon the falcon’s ungainly movements.