Ouroboros Spine blood for the bloodgoat

There was a minute of quietude that fell over the earth, moments before she rocketed forward. The birds chirped openly and the wind tickling the blades of grass could be heard, as could the sound of it sifting between thick boughs and thin branches alike. The pleasant hum of life was there, before the hounds of death unleashed themselves to do their work. Her muscles rippled beneath her furs as she reclined slightly, and in seconds she was out from the brush, moving in a long, loping stride not yet a sprint.

The herd had a delayed reaction, but it did so in a frenzy. They were simply keen to make a getaway; it was not clean, and she watched as two fell into one another, and as an antler of a young, inexperienced buck brushed against another. It did no harm, given it was in velvet, but in later times it surely would have. Tonravik was on the move, prowling through the herd with a hunger that would be slaked by the end of this.

The alpha followed the smell of blood, tail high, as she sought that weak link or else something weaker.