Overture Downs ✢ Tipvigut

A sharp cry in the near distance has her dig her heals into the frost in preparation to move. It sounds small - not the bellow of a cow or the roar of a bull - and Steltella is sent back to her first months of life. A fawn.

Her mouth waters at the thought of fresh meat, and now the breeze shifts again and carries with it the tantalising smell of blood. She could wait no longer, but just as her hindquarters tense to intercept the man comes into view.

And stares. 

Taken aback, she drops to her belly and slithers up to him, tail buffeting the ground. Give it to me!