Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

he slid forward, quiet as the shadows that crept across the snow. the wind moved with him, brushing cool against his back, and he thought only of the earth beneath his paws and the weight of the air.
then the herd startled.
ears flicked forward, head lifting sharply as the deer lurched into motion—legs pounding, snow scattering in wild sprays as they fled for the trees.
coväh stiffened, watching the wounded one stumble after them. nearly his. nearly.
a flash of movement cut through the fogged breath of the plains. another hunter?
his head tilted, nostrils flaring as he tasted the air, but whatever scent lingered was thin and distant, lost to the churn of trampled snow and fleeing bodies.
tch. a quiet sound of annoyance from the back of his throat, though he stayed low, lingering in the remnants of the chase. perhaps the spirits were testing him. perhaps the hunt was not his alone today.
but unseen eyes... he felt them now. watching.
he sprinted off, too, the scent of blood from a wounded doe filling his nose.