Flycatcher Downs vorarephobia

The herd was restless. He could see it in the stamp of their hooves, the flash-white of their rumps. What was it like to be prey? 

As many times before, his minds eye imagined the white of a wolf's teeth, the final image they would see before death. He shook the uncomfortable image with a shake of his pelt. A wolf needed to eat. And to eat, one needed to die.

Continuing to press, tail flagged, the ironclad's gaze raked the herd searching for any signs of weakness until salmonberry eyes settled on a young spike. It's hindleg hung bloodied and pointed at some awkward angle. Such a pitiful thing would not survive long - the wolf would be doing it a favour.

Careful now, he would move to separate it from the rest.

@Ancelin @Ameline @Athalia tag for visibility perhaps ?