The Scent of Fresh Shells

A sudden scatter of striped sunflower hulls rained down across the damp patch of turf near the wooden post. I broke out from the shadow of the entryway, pacing low across the grass until my talons dug into the mulch. Directly ahead, half-buried under scattered seed coats, lay a fresh strip of cured meat jerky dropped beside the timber. I held motionless, nostrils flaring as the rich, salty scent hit my throat. No scavengers dared approach. I clamped my jaws down on the chewy strip, ripping it free from the damp dirt with a sharp twist of my neck.