Barrow Fields this house is covered by your bloodsport

the facade of grimnismal was expressive in its rigor. tensions within the pack were felt, and Lycaon himself could feel unease stir in his belly the longer he stayed in its marches. he wasn’t aware that Chusi had been cast out of their pecking order, or that Ingram’s flame was now nothing more than a charred wick. though had been up to speed on current events he probably would have been in more joyous spirits than he presently was. 

following his usual path up the valley, Lycaon found himself in the fields he often returned to. he liked it—few seemed keen on the atmosphere, but he was drawn there by some untraceable force. it meant there was no scarcity in voles and shrews, which favored the soft grasses, and deer were less cautious.  spring brought forth tender new life in the sward; the does that nibbled the thistle seeds would soon be joined by fawns, hidden amidst the grasses, and rabbits would get up the nerve to venture beyond a tree limb’s reach. 

his paws left slurry impressions the snowmelt as he plodded along the meadow’s edge, ears pricked for any activity in the expanse.