One of the greatest things about being a shapeshifter with a form for flight is the fact that there is no need for a freakin' car. Rising gas prices? Who cares when you got wings.... and a beak, and talons. And I am hungry. Dang. I was flying very high. High enough for my lungs to be working a little harder to draw oxygen into my body. But this is the side-effect I always expect when flying at an altitude of 24,000 feet.

And it is sure beautiful up here. You do not know freedom or serenity until you take flight over the lush green fir and cedar forests of the Cedar mountain range. There was nothing to bother me. Nothing but deep blue space above, a deep fall to my death below, and the steady beat-beat-soar pattern of my 51 inch wingspan.

I decided that I would eat. Seems like I am always searching for a good food opportunity. I had this region memorized like the back of my claw. I knew where a good clearing is for hunting. Yet, I still have try not to cringe when I think about my quarry. Honestly, squirrl is not my number one choice for a meal.

A small quick thought of simply landing and becomming an elk to graze on the bracken instead crossed my mind. But I quickly dismissed that remembering that the foliage is dry at this time of the season. I cried a red-tailed hawk's cry as I decended toward the Earth. I came across the large feild of dry grass and circled it at 300 feet. It took several rotations before my keen eyes caught a small flicker of movement. I went around again. As I approached the same spot before, the one responsible for the movement became visable behind a few golden blades of grass.

I shifted the elbows of my wings above my head and close to my body. I gained speed as I swooped downward instantly. It was not even a matter of moments of my last action and the feeling of crunching the tiny bones of the small rodent I clutched in my talons.

Meh, squirl, mouse... both were not exceptionally satisfying but I still ripped it to shreds as I perched on a lower bow of a large cedar.