Fairspell Meadow or am I just wishing I could be like you?
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setting this for tomorrow morning, Aqui’s near where Blackfeather and Otter Creek meet!

Thunder.

It was not a storm. It was the sound of paws. It echoed through the meadowlands, dressed in white sorrow. If he thought about it too long, he would wonder if his steps echoed off the mountain itself.

A flock of snow white birds, their panicked croaks the only sound besides the thunder of his paws. His shoulders hunched, his lips curled up from his fangs, and the shade boy lunged up up

His teeth caught the fat body of the ptarmigan, its voice splintering into one last, loud croaking sound, a final warning to its comrades before it would meet its fate. Aquillius waited until the bird went deathly still in his jaws. His breath came in curls, lifting from his nostrils, hot with blood. He dropped the bird after a second, enough that he could cough and retch and spit a few feathers into the white of the snow. He stood out like a beacon against it, the stark colors only softened by the dawn across his shoulders. Reds, whites, and blacks softened to sepias and peaches.

He picked up the bird and starting walking back the way he’d come.