Swiftcurrent Creek macaw

It was a casual walk—until Mae skirted off. In retrospect he would wonder how she sensed the intruder before him—and then would wonder if her other senses had sharpened since the loss of her eyesight.

Still, he was a few paces behind the stubborn Mayfair, his own hackles lifted at the sight of the unknown wolf, scarfing down one of the caches the creek maintained.

His jaws clenched—Mae lunged—and he had a moment of consideration to knocking her aside and dealing with the problem himself. Their last interlude like this hadn’t gone in her favor—

—but he couldn’t coddle her. Not Mae—she would resent it. Resent him.

And so he skirted around her, while Mae sought one side of their haphazard visitor, he went the opposite, a snarl emanating from him, his jaws snapping forward to seek purchase on flesh and force the she-wolf down should he be successful.