Swiftcurrent Creek Clairvoyence

It was natural, almost easy hunting with Tuwawi. She was small, but seemed capable—and though he could not see or know her position, the smooth, soundless way in which she had reacted to his own movements before their splitting, led him to trust that she had tactfully placed herself. Haunter hadn't often hunted with other wolves, but it came as innately as breathing did, and having had to survive more or less on his own for the last four years, he had become a very skilled hunter in his own right. He was glad not to be dealing with an amateur—a she-wolf built to run, made to hunt.

And she did not disappoint; herding the frightened herd right into his wide and willing jaws. Most of them had scattered, a lot of them sticking together in their weaving flee, but Tuwawi had targeted a plump doe, round with a growing fawn, and she goaded the bounding quarry close to where she had last seen Haunter's hunched shoulders—and there he was to receive their prize.

Launching himself forward, the deer bleated with fear and the sense of impending doom as his jaws met the base of her long neck, teeth not quite lodging into her jugular. But the force of his jump and the two creatures combined weight had thrown them both off-balance and sent them to the ground with the doe's front hooves barely missing his stomach and grazing his side with no injury to him to speak of. He held on—forcing the doe to remain trapped with him as it struggled to get up—and waited precious seconds for Tuwawi to come and finish the job.