Lost Creek Hollow There's delays on the planes out of Eastern Montana

frostbound gaze goes to the calf then, long legged and noisy; broadcasting its location, unaware. untaught. easy ... though something in dracarys judges: it should be more aware. it should not have wandered from its mother, from its herd. it's poor instincts only aided the hunters stalking it.

easy targets were easily frightened, easily felled.

his gaze moves back to the woman, reading her body language and what it communicates to him: contribute or get out of the way.

a thrill runs down dracarys' spine as he watches the calf again, trying to map out it's movements, directions it could use to escape, how it might react. would it fight? or flee? he quickens his step to match her pace, sparing her a glimpse: looking for her silent orders.

it was her hunt, after all.