Ravensblood Forest salt grasping

crowell had been dozing, curled like a barnacle beneath a patch of sun-warmed driftwood, when the screaming tore through the air like a gutted sail.
a snarl of voices—wailing, shouting, crying.
he blinked awake, groggy, ears twitching with disinterest. birthing pains, maybe. some poor lass spillin’ pups in the dirt. he didn’t care. weren’t his problem. but the longer he investigated the scene, the more something grated on him. he counted one... two... women.
the third was not there. the damn cunts forced themselves into labor so she could escape!
fuckin’ hell, he growls, jerking upright. legs stretch long beneath him as he shakes the drowse off. flame-bright eyes scan the space where she should’ve been. nose dips low to the earth, drawing in her trail like a hound on blood. and then he’s off; howling into the sky like an alarm triggered.