Sunset Valley stepstones

He began moving toward her. Masquerade instinctively crouched among some tall grasses, her marigold gaze never leaving him. If he’d spotted her, he made no indication. The stranger appeared to be focused on something else entirely. I was right, he’s hunting, she thought, unable to do anything about the saliva that pooled in her mouth.

Suddenly, she heard scurrying sounds in the surrounding grass. Masquerade rapidly turned her head this way, then that way, her nose working as she tried to pinpoint the source. When she leapt, she did so blindly, though she was rewarded with a squeal as her weight landed on a rabbit trying to take cover in the sedge.

The sound would draw the hunter’s attention, though Masque barely gave it a thought as she properly pinned the prey. She swiftly crushed its skull with her jaws. Blood and grass clung to her tongue as she straightened, immediately wary of the other wolf and his reaction to her poaching.