Moonspear birthed from a bloodline

His inquiry was not missed, and she let out a long sound that sounded like a groan. Come on, was what the insistent low pitch said. She was the Beta, she could do as she pleased—that, and the trail of the critter went well beyond the borders as opposed to within. This was not an invitation to join the pack, but rather her own methodical way of assessing him. She would diligently track, and he would chase and kill, and she would watch with eager eyes. The inky yearling turned back to the trail and began to get a move on, snuffling at the earth, her gait still something of a prance even despite the added predatory edge. Her blood boiled—she wanted to run. Maybe she would participate in the chase. The feeling that was edging in on her was in its early days, and so she still had a tight grip on her own reins. Yet there was something strange in the air, something she wanted to respond to in some way.