Hoshor Plains a feeling that consumes

He was the ghost in the grass, the eyes between the pale blades. He had been watching them now for several days, the band of wolves and the coyote who spoke with them, was a part of them. It was a curious and insulting thing. But she had separated from them recently, and he had followed undetected, keenly aware of the reason she broke from the company of the wolves.

Experience had put him in solid command of his instincts. They were an instrument to his purposes; he was not a puppet hung from their strings. No, he was driven to follow her for much more obscure reasons, and it was not until now did he choose to reveal himself. He had been slinking, the line of his back sunk below the jagged tips of the grass, but now he stood, and stepped in front of her. His face was unreadable, but his voice was velvet.

"Are they too much for you to take?"