Bitterroot Valley silver loon

another bite, another rush of blood to quench a parched throat. he was fixed in his eating, in his single-minded pursuit of enough jaw-snapping to fill a belly taut with frequent hunger.

yikaas had grown ragged; had grown sharp-edged and more hateful than before; he muttered on mouthfuls of dirt, spitting them aside to leap in another direction, to yank another small body from another burrow in a spray of dirt clods.

to crush. to swallow, a beast rooting in a field.

when he looked up, the single slate eye narrowed. a boarish snort followed. "why do you stare?" yikaas grunted in lanzadoii. there was no need to use common.