Bitterroot Valley Exit, Pursued by a Bruised Ego

good, sega murmured, barely more than breath.

he slipped to the right side of the herd, pale coat blending against frost-touched grass. his tail lifted, signaling readiness. his eyes locked on the same thin elk callahan had spotted— the one moving stiff, weighted, already halfway to death. mercy was easy today.

sega’s body lowered, muscles coiled beneath him. he looked across the herd, found callahan’s gaze, and gave a single, sharp dip of his head.

the signal.

in the next heartbeat he surged forward, a silent avalanche through the grass, driving the elk hard from the right. panic rippled through the herd, hooves striking earth, bodies turning north exactly as planned.

callahan would meet them from the left, and between them, the weakest would fall into the open.

sega’s breath came steady, focused.

now, he growled low, meant for callahan alone, even if distance swallowed the sound.

a true hunt. a shared one. the first of many.