Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

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Evenings make her sick. Mornings make her famished, and she’d stolen away to the plains in pursuit of the grazing herds here. A successful kill might feed all upon the mount for a day or two, but Ayovi felt she might devour an entire calf in her voracity. The pink flesh of her belly had just begun to swell with Skorpa’s cubs, and though it is scarcely noticeable yet to others, she feels the change so drastically as her strokes take the acres. As she slides along the ice to look for outlying movement.
She’d have settled for a calf, but drifting among a tight herd of mule deer is a female with an old wound. Not initially evident but perceptible to the hunter’s eye. Ayovi beds down in the snow, watching for a time to make certain— cross-wind from the stranger who similarly marked this query as his.
Something startles the herd. Their snouts pull up into the air, rolling great clouds of steam from lungs and cantering off for the treeline.
Abandoning her overlook, Ayovi springs through the mist, raising torrents of snow beneath adept paws.