Bitterroot Valley a song note

narmo. and close. too close. the stallion swept his amber eyes over the brush, tensing as any creature would in such a tooth-haunted world. "show yourself," came the demand of his tongue in accented common. his eyes were not made for the crouch of fanged beasts, only their movements.

felaróf refused to return to his grazing, muttering once more as he shook his mane in irritation and reared to stamp the ground with furious warning. the peal of the mearas' horn drove from his throat, a thundering sound that echoed upon the taiga.