Shadewood Even though we know it, everyone remains in play.

Ever since her youth, Masquerade had been practicing and perfecting the art of stalking. She prided herself on her nearly silent passage as she crept through the undergrowth just slightly behind her mate. Riley’s prowling prowess matched her own and she felt a flush of pride, soon after followed by a gnawing sensation deep in her gut.

This was why it was always a bad idea to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach. But Masque refused to heed its demands or let it press her patience. With measured steps and careful breaths, she inched forward until she could get her eyes on the prize.

The first thing that caught her attention was the sow with what looked like nearly a dozen babes suckling at her flabby teats. The huntress watched this in fascinated disgust for a moment, wondering if she would look so wretched when she fed her pups. Masque made a note never to nurse while standing.

Her eyes cut sideways, taking in at least two other sows—one heavily pregnant, by the look of her—and, furthest away from their current position, the boar. Masque felt some measure of relief when he appeared to be graying around his head. Hopefully that meant he was a little older, a little slower.