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

First the scent of blood, and now something softer -- sweeter.

Riley spun uncharacteristically quick in the tall grass, ears pinned and eyes scouring. Around him, nothing but the shiver of weeds rifled by the wind, of tall early summer grasses -- and still, that cloying scent of blood and milk.

He felt a shiver run down his spine anew, accompanied by the razoring pin-prick of his skin crawling away from him. Something was here -- he could tell.

But what?

"Show yourself!" The yearling growled, his bluff cast into the unfaithful wind as it whipped this way and that, carrying first his scent away, and then, ferrying back the scent of that other. He hoped whatever -- whoever -- it was would not catch that small nibbling of doubt, that tiny little boy's voice that still lingered in the back of his throat, very much alive. "I know you're there."  This time his tail lashed in irritation as his golden eyes dredged up all the glade's minutia -- still missing the shadowed form of the lurking Tiercel. "You don't scare me." His tone now was quieter - softer - rimmed by the needling worry of someone who was caught vulnerable in the bush.