deathshadow

Massive wings beat the air, the likes of which Alacratia had not seen in quite some time if they ever had. Beneath it's shadow small prey animal quailed fearfully, and the deer herd bolted away for not even they were safe. But the fierce golden eyes watched them bound away with disinterest for there were equally fierce thoughts swirling behind those eyes of much more importance than deer. She was Locke, the great golden eagle, and none in this land could compare to her.

The small form of a newborn elk calf, alone, caught her sharp gaze, and it was not an opportunity the journey-weary eagle could afford to pass up. She dropped in altitude, nearly hovering over the form before her wings folded closely and she dropped. The wind vibrated her feathers, faster and faster as she dove, her kind as fast or faster than the fable peregrine falcons. Seconds from impact she flared her wings, her tail, the sudden shock straining against muscle and bone and a muffle boom like a parachute's opening was heard as wings suddenly caught the air once more. Before the calf could do more than twitch away and bleat the eagle's weight hit it, and her feet flexed to grab it's back. Talons pierced skin and meat and organs, and the calf jerked in her grasp. Her wings fluttered to keep her balance as the prey twisted and shook before finally collapsing. Horn-blue beak pierced the small beast's spine at it's skull, ending the struggle.

No. None in this land could compare to her.