It is a warm autumn day in the land with the willows, where the small family has made their home. Curiosity pulls the pink girl from her den, out into the bright sunlight and down toward where the largest pond in the land lays. Water has spoken to her since she first left her den but, today, something else draws Coho attention as she meanders through the willows. Ravens caw at her as she passes by, drawing her bright, inquisitive eyes up to the weeping branches where they rest, posturing and screaming their outrage at her for intruding.

Confusion tugs at her mind, slowing her steps as she tries to figure out the reason for these birds being so upset. Above the canopy, a swirling vortex catches her attention and she comes to a stop as she watches, realization slowly dawning on that it is actually alive. Dark feathers flash in the sunlight as unnumbered ravens circle and cry, something pull them to that one, specific area. Random members leave this strange formation to dive toward to the ground, disappearing behind the cover of several large willows and out of the girl’s sight.

Slowly, hesitantly, she moves toward them, wishing to the know the secret that has gathered so many of the same bird in one area. Pushing through the low hanging branches, Coho spies the corpses of a couple dead coyotes and, with morbid fascination, she stills and watches as these dark birds tear into them. Blood paints their beaks as they pluck eyes from sockets and feast on the soft innards of the exposed abdominal cavities, loops of intestine now laying splayed out on the once green grass.

Several of carrion hunters look toward her, screaming in their bird voices, the anger of being spied on. Yet Coho does not retreat, watching silently as they work to pick the bodies clean. It crazy, strange, and wonderfully different from anything she has ever seen before and the girl sudden wants to know more. What kind of birds are these? Why do they attack the already obviously dead creatures? All this and more swirl in her young mind as she watches the ravens continue to feast on the dead.



"Coho Klein"

Ghoul had returned from a hunt to count pups. Cricket had managed to fall asleep, requesting that Mac keep an eye on them until he returned or she awoke. Looking to his brother who was engrossed in a recent taxidermy project with a few of the pups watching intently, Ghoul notices one is missing. His ears pull back, eyes narrowing as he requests to know where Coho is. When none of the wolves in the den have an answer, all they can hear is the growl building in Ghoul's chest as he storms from the den beneath the tree. The willows were relatively safe. Other than a few couples found moonlighting beneath the boughs, predators rarely moved through the willows. Other than some fish that swam down from the river north of the territory, there wasn't much that drew them toward here. So while he wasn't terribly worried about the girl, he still needed to know where she was. None of the caimans had any idea either as they lounged in the nearby shallows other than pointing their pointy snouts at the murder of crows that roused up a racket not far off. Concern triggers in his otherwise apathetic heart as he moves silently but hurriedly through the willows. Closer to the sound of cawing avians that clearly are feasting on something with how they are behaving. Worried that their morning snack was indeed his daughter, Ghoul picks up his pace until he spies the dead coyote carcasses and the gathering of midnight feathered fiends. Stopping in his tracks, he glances around with this pale eyes until he sees the girl who has yet to grow into her full height. "Coho," Ghoul breathes as he moves quickly to stand protectively beside the girl. "What are you doing?" Ghoul demands, ears flattening as he glares over at the crows who scream occasionally at them.