Qeya River Clubhouse

sheep killer had a pronounced knowledge of where his foot might best be placed. sun eater might not admit such a thing, but the high reaches of terrain were not his expertise. he preferred for many reasons the flat and open land. welcoming their departure, the chieftain placed the emphasis of his mind on their efforts.

their descent was steep, rocks bouncing, the terrified cries of the lambs honing wolf's adrenaline and the rush of his heart. he found confidence in his own reckless lunge.

sun eater was not unfamiliar with stampeding creatures from a higher point. he had seen it done among the sharadoii; as cen and and as yikaas he had mocked the sharadoii for their refusal to leave their birth valley. and yet it had not been necessary. the caribou came to their camps and their villages; the caribou gave themselves to the sharadoii, and one one occasion it had been en masse. 

he had participated in driving, but he had been so overwhelmed by the lowing, huffing mass of packed living caribou so close to him that he had not seen the end. he had not seen their drop from the cliffs; he had fallen back and run down to butcher them instead. 

today he would see.

he might have missed sheep killer's cue had it been silent; the bark set the saatsine man a step late after the lambs,  but correctly left in their driving. his snarl was harsh, teeth snapping at their limbs to keep them from straying down into the merciful hills.

sun eater's eyes were wild with the hunt, with the anticipated taste of blood.