Little Goat Mountain Are we faded

From the opposite end of the cleft stalked a carnivorous stranger. Prowling his large, earthen body forward, the covetous wolf with his slavering jaws and inexpressive eyes, set his destructive sights on the prone body of a young nanny. She had never seen danger, only fleeing when led to by the movements of her mother, so she relaxed openly among the herd, lazing and grazing with her hooves tucked beneath her on the cold ground. Nearly fully grown, the ignorant creature would make a decent carcass.

She was too slow to get to her feet as the others bleated wildly and began fleeing. The goat stumbled, crushed by something heavy and sharp. She cried out for her mother, the pain unfamiliar and searing, her blood hot against her white back. Then all of the sensations were erased at once, and she was left with a comforting wave of numbness before her entire, adolescent life switched to black.

Warbone tore eagerly into his meal, jaded to the sheer luck of finding an unschooled ungulate. The smell of blood rose quickly, filling the air of warm mountain crevice in an arousing ambiance for predators.