Blackfeather Woods I am that technology allowed.

Good nose, the silver wolf complimented.

The mysterious creature was older than anything Kinloch had smelled. It was from an era that had died a long time ago, perhaps. The man sniffed at it again, afraid that he might forget the way it smelled.

It didn't seem right to find such a thing and then to leave it. Their stone-bound discovery did not even have a name by which they could call it. Kinloch circled it, pausing to stare at the shifting colors in the bedrock, the bleeding of red from the creature's body.

Well, Anselm, he began with a thoughtful crease above his eyes, what will you name it?