Sleepy Fox Hollow king of the hill

He thought of the young men of the herd and how easily he could defeat them; he thought of the fat women ripe with progeny — the pale girl's shared blood — and how slowly they would run if he really put his mind to harming them; he paced and throttled the earth, thinking of all these scenarios as if imagination alone was enough to vault him to the top of the social ladder. He knew better. No single land could contain all that Hakai was. It could never hold his father either, the lord of the plains. It was through him that Hakai had learned to trust the wind and become something more than mortal in those fleeting moments of near-flight across the fields; it was Nechako's blood that ran through him now, incised and burning.

Ease yourself— the woman tried to tell him, and he snorted loudly, neck arching and body lunging at an angle so that he could stomp and bray before her, adamant. Where do you plan on going now? She was careful. A thoughtful creature who knew how harsh the plainsrunner could be, perhaps. Or she was accustomed to the rough-natured beasts of the canyon; either way, she kept her distance from him even though she drifted slowly closer, and Hakai kept an eye on her vivid, pale form as if he were trying to discern a shape out of a cloud.

He watched her — still agitated, but no longer so forthright, having tired himself out with his tantrum. Hakai had not yet accepted his lot in life (and likely never would), but he could oblige her some peace. He knew she was right to dissuade him from wasting energy. To her question he tossed his head to the mountains that surrounded them, to the forest that contained them, and said, Anywhere I damn please, as is my right! Somewhere open, somewhere free. Then Hakai leaned in to where she stood, watching her intently - What of you, daughter of the sand? He held no mirth in his voice as he jousted with his words, but it was a joke, a reference to her bloodline that could not be forgotten.