Totoka River like rust in my veins

Night had fallen hours prior to Gluska reaching the edge of the slow-channeling river. He scuttled forward on the tips of his paws, alert and prepared. His breath billowed from his nares as the coywolf pressed forward along the bank of the winding water’s edge. He had been tracking the scent of a wandering deer for little more than a half hour, and it had managed to trail him across hell’s half-acre. Growing impatient with the prospect of a catch, the coywolf male pondered – only for a moment – about abandoning his search and seeking a den for the oncoming night. The temperature had already turned frigid and crisp.

The sound of broken earth forced the half-breed to pause in his tracking. Just near the bend of the river, an injured doe lowered her head for a drink from the top of the water. Gluska’s lips twined upwards in an expression of open savagery. Lowering his head towards the earth, the coywolf slunk closer to where the doe was paused. His sharp yellow eyes shone like fire, reflected in the light of the moon overhead.