Hoshor Plains Hunting Horns

Laqikki was late to the party, but that was her way. The crone was notorious for this quality. Let all know that she arrived when she chose, and not even the greatest of Khals could beckon her forth if she wasn't ready. Oh, the old she-wolf had known Rakharo and his khalas were here—age had not dulled her senses enough that tracking them was impossible—but she hadn't made herself known. Let them wait. The Dosh Khaleen would come when they chose, no sooner.

She rose her head from the bright grass in time to see the bison stampeding. The sound of their powerful hooves shaking the ground was unforgettable, and thrummed like life water in the veins of every Dotharan wolf. Her heart sang to join the hunt, but Laqikki stayed where she was, fully visible and unmistakable even from a distance for the twin lines that marked her apart from other wolves. She was too old now to be hunting bison, and preferred to stand back and observe. Many omens could make themselves known at a moment's notice. It was the crone's job to spot and decipher these.

Yet she had been away from her fellows too long, so her attention was drawn to the strong bodies of the khalas. She was surprised to see a much smaller canine among them. Slaves weren't abnormal, but in her lifetime, it was rare that they got the honour of hunting the great bison. That right was almost exclusively awarded to grown male and female wolves of the khalas. Laqikki tsked her disapproval, and for the remainder of the pack's selection and separation of the bison, she would pray to the Golden Rhoa that the slave not lay a single sullied fang on their sacred prey.