She stepped over to the berry bush and fastidiously deposited the head atop the dense shrub. A brief survey, a small adjustment, two, and the frozen shriek of the little beak would serve as a warning for the next winged seeker. She returned to the feathery heap next to the tree, still warm; she picked it up, trotting over to the prone buck.
"A much better lunch than berries, don't you think?" She liked this one. He was fun. She would see him again.
An unerring hoof gently swept the brown tuft aside. Dipping just the tip into the crimson fluid, she drew three careful lines down the pale forehead - her calling card. Nudging her 'parting gift' closer, till the soft feathers just caressed the pallid cheek, she patted the supine form kindly, turned, and was gone.
