Larksong Grotto Quånitǐge

She and Skorpa together might have made a meal of this enormous bull but a sole wolf was at odds with him. Ayovi exudes her collection and takes a brazen stance, tail fanning high like the bark of birch. She raises a warning with sufficient vigor but his own is a shrill, reverberating screech that gores her ears. He shoots forward in the same step Ayovi leaps and the chase spins out across the vale.
The wolf is nimble, diving between old trees and maneuvering like water through the brush. It doesn’t matter; the bull flattens all in his path, charging, blowing, grunting.
Only in the tight perils of his fray does she make out a dark wolven form and narrowly avoids entangling their bodies. Above roiling hoofbeat and the pierce of screech comes her own frenzied call:
“Go!”