The Dog stood there in writhing agony, the cold tearing its skin to bone. It shook, shivered more in rage than pain helplessness against the elements, it did bemoan.
Unguarded as it stood, fatal hunger, death's ugly paramour, lingered too. Creepy, silent, buying time, baiting the moment to consume its due.
The Crow hovered over it flapping the wings reluctantly, for cold bit it often and so did pity. The grim scene below was too much to behold.
Pregnant with grief, the Crow sank through the heavy air to share its share; overpowered by hunger, the brute in turn gobbled the poor Crow, not a feather to spare.
