Dawnlark Plains darkest hour

Landing a strike usually brought about an intense feeling of satisfaction, particularly during a hunt. All Raider felt was rage as her teeth sank into the trespasser’s flesh. She grappled the smaller woman’s body with her forelegs, trying to drag her to the ground and quite possibly rip her apart.

Instead, her victim broke free, yanking violently out of Raider’s grasp. She planned to charge again, though the sound of a snarl distracted her. She glanced over to see Redd approaching, giving the gray she-wolf just enough time to run like a bat out of hell.

Raider’s lips wrinkled, blood and foam dripping from her jowls. She glared after the escapee for a moment, breathing hard, before eventually looking to her sister. She felt a flash of fury at Redd’s interruption, which in turn brought about an abrupt feeling of confusion.

The rise wasn’t hers to defend any longer. But even on her own turf, Raider never behaved like this. It was one of the things that set her apart from the other Redtails. So why had she done that? Her ears pinned back uncertainly as she took a sliding step backward.

And then the thirst hit again. Raider forgot all about what had just happened. She ignored the Wealda’s presence altogether as she frantically resumed her search for water.