Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

When Lasher bolted into the trees, Peregrine followed. He was neither lithe nor swift, yet he could dog Lasher's steps until he tired, as any hunter worth his salt could do. In the meantime, he moved at a steady clip, peering around himself and taking in his surroundings, though he primarily kept his senses peeled for any sign of his quarry. It was likely Lasher would double back and attempt to ambush him, he felt. It wasn't something an elk would do, yet Lasher wasn't something to eat, at least in the conventional sense.