Felltree Marsh noble blood

When Miska ran out of valley, he continued north in search of herds. The day had not yet come when prey sat pretty like fat dumplings in warm soup, bumping against the bowl's invisible edge and waiting for death.

When that day came, he would know to lay his head down and ask to be ended.

Elk were trickling into Dawnlark Plains, where a persistent wind rushed the clouds by and kept the snow from building up in winter. He would assess the gathered animals again on his way home, and continued on.

He saw no wolves until his eyes landed on Astier. The stocky male was bright as a beacon against the grey-brown autumn landscape. There was a stagnant smell about the place.

Miska prowled closer, making no effort to hide the squelching sound of his steps. The stranger seemed to be considering the marsh as a place to lay down his pack for the day.

"Ssss! Bracie!" the black wolf hooted, rearing up to place his paws in a fallen log. His shark grin shone bright. "You make stop? If you helping, I give you good deal on next meal - very fat, very slow. Simples peasy for two strong mans." There was a trickle of young and elderly that stretched north from the plains, and Misha was hungry.