Meadowlark Prairie Here I am…. A tumbleweed.

"Do you understand, what they talk with one another?" Dwin asked curiously, because it had never occurred to her that prey specied were capable of speech. It was very comfortable (and in some ways logical) for a hunter species to consider that the prey species were not sentient beings. Of course, they had some sort of self-awareness and they clearly had thoughts. Just... probably not interesting enough for them to be spared, if a hungry Dwin happened to stumble upon them. 

"I have heard elk and moose - roar? Is that the right term? And roe deer bark, but it has never sounded like a real conversation. Rather... just sounds. Like babies make, when they are tiny," she mused. 

"They must be dangerous beasts then. Mom has always told me to steer clear of the deer and not try to battle one, if I am alone," she said. "I kind of not like them anyway," she added in a brief moment of vulnerability. Then her attention was drawn to the smell of rotting flesh and she beckoned Cassidy to follow her. There were remnants of, what had once been a moose. Many scavangers had visited the open-air restaurant before them, including Brecheliant inhabitants, but there were still enough scraps to make up a hearty meal for a weary and unpicky traveller. 

"Dig in - I will stay on guard for coyotes and bears," she instructed him.