Barrow Fields these are the last blues we're ever gonna have.

slight pp cause I’m allowed

Not even Artaax, as intensely focused and determined a hunter as he was, was capable of ignoring the screech that came from the white wolf’s lips as he railroaded towards her. That was a terrible sentence. His gaze flickered to her instantly and his eyes widened as though surprised to even see her there. The young wolf stretched his arms out to stop himself, skidding and sending a spray of snow out in his wake.

Unfortunately, he did not stop soon enough. In truth, he would’ve been better off to keep running in pursuit of his prey, for then his collision with the porcelain furred female would likely not have happened, and he would’ve been feasting on eagle to boot. But, he hesitated, and deviated, and was shortly sent tumbling into the snow in a tangle of white limbs while his prey spun away screeching from the wreckage.