Qeya River crudo

On Mulherin's advice he had stopped "trying to track one-thousand-year-old deer" and instead had taken to trailing packmates, scouring the telltale marks and scents which scaffolded someone's transient presence.

Perhaps it was his fondness for Redd that he continued to seek her even as she broke the border of the Rise, her path bold and eastward.

But here her scent grew dispersed and her pawprints muddled.

Stumped, he was about to head back until the violent rustle of undergrowth alerted him, the noise coming from deeper in the bush. His cautious approach rewarded him with a glimpse of Redd, her coloring unmistakable. He immediately brightened, barking a pleasant note of greeting -- but he followed her steady gaze downstream, where there stood a sterling stranger.