Dawnlark Plains everybody knows one

As much as she missed and worried after her progeny, Moorhen could not help but revel in this return to freedom. The single life had always suited her, and she'd never taken a mate, but she had certainly been tied down for quite a while. What had started as an opportunity for her daughters to come into their own had turned into a chance for the sea queen to return to her roots.

She felt youthful. She felt wild. She felt so very alive. If he had the chance, she would pass on this new wisdom to her descendants: sometimes, it was good to be alone.

Sometimes.

Melancholy did not touch her on this day. She bounded through the plains with a grouse flapping fearfully in her jaws, taking it on one last flight; a tour of its murdered family, which lay in cheerfully strewn pieces across a good little swath of the territory. Blood was everywhere, and feathers eddied and drifted each time Moorhen gusted past.

She toss the living grouse in the air and chased after it as it made another desperate attempt at escape, her tail frisking in idle pleasure.

From afar, Winter’s Wake observed the scene with youthful intrigue. Dark emerald eyes danced and zoomed as they did, laughing to himself with every new spray of feathers and each pathetic flap of the last grouse’s sullied wings. The palespine’s captive audience watched with delight at the cruelty he saw, as if through a child’s eyes. He saw no abuse. Only their right as the stronger, superior species.

This was a game using toys they owned; a puppet play. A performance using props on the plainfield stage.

The snowrunner’s tail swept slowly against the earth as he reclined in his viewing box, content to enjoy the show until it was over.