Hoshor Plains You hit me once, I hit you back.

Where the plains border the lake territory.

A covey of grouse burst from their hiding places among the tall grass with enough time to disperse, each in a different direction and with wings open despite the fact they hobbled in a panic rather than seeking true flight, and snapping after them was the black-capped face of a wolf.

He was a large specimen by any regard; hunched because of a natural height, with a dense coat that was more suitable for colder seasons. Patches had begun to molt from along his sides and clusters of these brown and gold hairs could be spotted churning in the breeze.

While he snapped mercilessly the wolf did not in fact succeed. The giggling of the covey briefly became an eruption of panic and then nothing, as the birds escaped. The wolf stands there looking a touch stupefied and flustered, while a piece of grouse down floats beyond his nose.