Firefly Glen but when i go to sleep at night, don't you call my name

On whim, Riley lifted his muzzle and closed his eyes -- entirely unaware of the pair of furious orange eyes upon him. He was thinking of Easthollow -- could he smell the plains from here?

He could not -- but he did smell something else that made his skin crawl.

Blood.

Riley's fur rippled; he could decipher what kind of blood it was, but it was an omen all the same. Either there was a predator here (which instilled in him visible fear) or there was someone hurt -- neither were encounters Riley anticipated enjoying.

His posture lowered; he speared his head down through the tall grass, moving slowly as his crocodilian gaze pried through the firefly ridden gloom in search of whatever it was that profusely reeked so.