Honeyed Pasture one false prayer wielding blasphemy

He had stumbled across the felled bull elk by accident—it had been the coyote that Solpallur had been stalking. The fact that the mangy little cousin had led him to the remains of a kill was only a bonus, though the elk hadn’t been taken down by either set’s brethren. Gouge marks were deep in the fur and flesh, the corpse mostly picked clean. Something else had done it, though he did not ascertain if it were feline or ursine. He only watched the coyote scavenge.

Lying low in the weeds of the pasture, Solpallur was not the sort to blend in on an overcast day. His dark coat stood out too much against the yellowing autumnal scene, so it was with a great distance that he watched as the coyote circled and scrounged. He watched him pick and pull at what he could, and the obsidian rekkr weighed his options in charging him.

If it would not have startled the coyote off, he could have easily summoned @Stjornuati.

But premise of fresh meat kept his voice silent.