Luneshale Pass Harou le medina gedida

they share a look of knowing.

soto slinks east, confident arslan will do the same to the west. 

the pronghorn graze, the sharp crunch of their long molars grinding vegetation to leafy pulps. 

situated behind a slab of worn sandstone, soto sinks into place. a quiet wind has picked up to the southeast; only a matter of time before their cover is blown.

the closest pronghorn lifts her delicate head, some hidden sense alerting her of danger.  but by then soto has sprung from the underbrush, teeth snapping at her haunches and driving her straight into the path of arslan.