Porcupine Ridge leshen

She did not respond to his rumbled countenance, and together the two moved fluidly across the stark trails of the ridge. Drifting lower until their stalked prey came to view, the ivory sylph felt the coil of anticipation unfurling within her breast. Her breath hitched at the touch of the warhound, and without word, she moved in the direction he suggested, her ears pressed forward as she skirted the injured beast.
 
It bellowed lowly—knowing their intention, and a final effort to intimidate. The stomp of hoof to ground did little to dissuade her, and as her peripheral vision caught sight of the ashen male taking the front of the hunt she felt brazen in her efforts.
 
She struck, venomous like a snake, a low snarl issuing from her muzzle as teeth tore the flesh along the tender hind limb that met torso. No sooner did the copper taste of blood press to her lips did she leap away from a swing of its horn as it bleated, a sprite on her once weary paws, vigorous now with her intent.
 
Skirting around to avoid the injured deer’s clumsy attempt, she dove for another grab of meat, this time closer to the deer’s hip and bone, hoping to have another shot at the wound she had previously inflicted.