Whitefish River When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

When her mate came to drink, Tonravik paused to look around them, too, her ears perked atop her head as her eyes searched the surrounding area. The place was empty, the chirp of birds replaced by crickets. Herds were surely grazing at this hour, more active now than in the sun. Prior to his actual going to drink, his head lingered near her belly, and Tonravik glanced to him for a brief moment. He sensed nothing, just as surely as she sensed nothing there. Only her will to pee had changed, her bladder horrible. Even she was impatient with it, but in this, nothing could be done. She had to pee.

As he drank Tonravik turned to watch his back, though not before gently nipping his exposed rump because it was there, and she was often inclined to biting things in her vicinity. But then her eyes perused the horizon, empty as it had always been on their journey home.