Horizon Ridge Maneater

Wrong was a term that made Bayou's ears flatten with a flick; like bat wings, they flapped down and rested.

"Oh yes, very wrong." Her voice rasped in a way that was indicative of age which her body did not reflect. The girl lifted to her narrow legs and approached the body, prodding it with a paw, gripping it between her teeth to drag and roll it, to test how much life was still within.

When she halted, Bayou sank to her jutting haunch with paws on either side of the body - watching it, hawkish and eager, but her eyes drifted towards the stranger with a clear apprehension. Suspicion.

"Too vivan, too much lavi. I must wait." Her gaze grew sharper but the eyes did not narrow; she watched him and would not move, waiting for the pound of flesh to cool and succumb to the winter's rigidity.