Lion Head Mesa Wet Hands

Eira drew a breath, her expression hardening.

I am huntin’ the beast that killed my boy, she said quietly, but there was a pain in her tone, her gaze turning as sharp as steel. Do believe me when I say this is no pursuit I take any pleasure in. It is a last resort, but one I have no choice in, as it has already slipped through my grasp once—and now it tries again.

Her words were resolute, but beneath them was the unmistakable ache of a mother’s grief.