Mayhem. Absolute mayhem in the orchard.
The Chicken Snaketails scattered among the fallen apples and dried leaves. Their hurried steps crunched and their tails hissed as they dragged along the ground.
Behind them, in hot pursuit, was Quilla. Her scarred maw opened and snapped, sharp teeth narrowly missing her sprightly prey. There was no frustration in her green eyes, only thrill and anticipation, the joy of the hunt.
From the safety of the boughs of the trees, Quercus wa...