Honeyed Pasture kitchen fork

The grasses around her tugged gently at her neck fur as she passed, body held low, her eyes peering at the herd. She’d tracked them this far, nose in the air for most of it, but she did not know if she could take them alone.

Vairë cursed beneath her breath, a barely there whisper. She eyed the herd, trying to pick out weakness from their ranks, but found her eye straying. There was another scent here, wolfscent, and she eyed the distance with the same caution as the herd. Would she be interrupting a hunt? Would the stranger be interested in joining in, for a price? She could pay in pieces of the meat they would hunt, she was sure.

Moondoe turned her head, slithering through the grasses in the direction of the scent, split between watching for the wolf she could scent, and watching the herd.