Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

lasher made as if to step, but was frozen by the panther's swift turn. cunning and want rose in his veins; he made no more attempts to tread, merely standing quietly for a long moment before he moved again, with slow strides, circling peregrine through the thicket of trees and branches, his eyes melding rather seamlessly with the darkness, save for the glint of sunlight through the tangled wood.

he bit back a heady little laugh, and paused again, eyes fixed upon peregrine.