Big Salmon Lake And the grass all smells the same

He moved with practiced strength and grace. With a self-assuredness that his little shadow could not hope to imitate in this moment. Her mind was a blur of thoughts and scents, his chief among them. It occurred to her that she’d gotten used to the smell of him – while tracking him, spying on him.

Being so close to her target now only stirred up disquieting sensations.

Was this safe? Could she trust him?

…did she have a choice?

The stonefall wolf counseled her on the game to come.

Needle’s nagging feelings were pushed back in favor of survival. There was no time to despair or second-guess now. Life’s not given to you. That’s what Goodnight said once. You’ve gotta take it.

She crouched as the stranger did, her pawsteps as careful as if the ground might erode. She watched his spine arch, spring loading for a burst of speed. Her eyes found his waypoint, the fawn, just as he launched himself forward.

And the take ain’t always fair.

Needle peeled off after him, trying to stay focused on their target, but the scattering herd, their bluntrock hooves thundering closer than they’d ever been, made her pulse race like never before. The urge to cut and run was powerful, and only adrenaline kept her from merely drowning amongst the sea of legs and fearscent.

Eyes forward! Eyes forward!

There. The fawn. The stranger was hot upon it, but it the creature was veering through the grass, just barely keeping abreast of him. Without needing to think it, Needle angled to intercept their quarry’s path. She reached, reached, reached – but her jaws closed on empty air, and the breath was forced out of her as she and fawn collided, sending them both rolling hard into the dirt.