Qeya River split sky

He could have run.

Like a jackrabbit, he could have lain low, and dashed away once the danger was clear. It was no physical snare that kept him tethered, but one that impaired his ability to make a decision. There were too many what if questions. 

Part of him was relieved to hear the man’s voice- as it quieted those questions instantaneously. 

His body bowed away from the man. His ears had remained pivoted for so long he’d developed a headache- but when posed a question, they lifted slightly. 

”I’m a sheep killer.” He admitted. His tongue flicked over his teeth when he recalled what had once been an obsession. He tilted his head- a replacement for the shrug that would have come from his stiff, wounded shoulder. ”Hunter. Tracker. Scout.” Obviously not a fighter, He thought ruefully.