Firestone Hot Springs viiii. i was born to fight, to rage, to war

that's fine with me!

It doesn't slip her notice that he fails to answer her questions but Rhæ nods regardless, falling into his shadow as she trails after. (She'll just have to snag some scraps after for her wolves, even if it means a new tussle.) The pair lopes abreast - silent, not entirely entrusting the other - as one-eyed glances bounce between them like an odd pinball tournament.

The scent of the fawn is heavy, overpowering. Their prey is close but it's tricky sniffing something out when you're practically on top of it. A glistening ruby droplet draws her gaze, freshly fallen - still running as it dribbles along the contours of a stone.

With a glancing brush of her muzzle against the peak of his snowy shoulder, Rhælla murmurs, "There, that way," under her breath, darting off in the indicated direction.