Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

she was soon directed; mona crouched in wait. but though her nostrils flared with the hot scent of rabbit, her eyes were trained upon the man's graceful movements as he melted into the underbrush. from where had stigmata come? mona wondered at his origins perhaps a bit more than she did with other wolves, and soon fell into the reverie of contemplating some dark forest in the far distance.
two rabbits darted beneath her red muzzle before the mayfair snapped from her foolish girlhood nature; a gasp and a lunge and the scream of a third echoed through the woodland. sheepishness danced in her eyes as she held the still-struggling beast in her grasp, searching for stigmata and hoping that he had not seen her near-miss.