Lost Creek Hollow there's fear in letting go

A man of few words, Ingram agreed to check the southern end of their territory for signs of the deer.

Crowfeather didn’t hesitate. With the new-father’s swift figure, he knew that they would need to set a strong pace. Even on three legs, the shadow moved with confidence through the hollow. He recalled the path he had taken to come upon the deer scent, their tracks leaving marks in the mud and soft dirt.

After quietly moving through the clan, the dark-furred wolf stopped and hovered over the hoof-printed soil.

The tripod glanced toward Ingram. The scent of deer was fresh. It warmed the air around the two hunters.