Felltree Marsh red duck

cen.

it felt good to be called that again, the rightness of its sound settling around him like a cowl. in fact, it provoked a smile from the man. he had the future of moonglow in his clutches, and he did not intend to let it go. long years of hunting had attuned cen to any change in breath, in motion, in muscle; the girl struck and he only avoided its full blow.

nausea bloomed in his belly, agony radiating at the base of his spine; he gasped and its sound became a loud snarl of anger as he crouched for a moment, surprised at his daze.

a snap, whirling on whatever part of her was still close.

if his aim was true, a beating aimed to follow. not to maim, not to kill; a controlled venting that ensured this piece of hope remained his to possess.

and if he was not, long caribou legs would carry him in frenzied swiftness at her tail.

single eye wild, dilated in the light; sun eater — yikaas — cen dolefully silent as their movements went on.