Chimera Fields apollonius

a growl bubbles over and out her throat into the calm spring air. excuses, excuses. always something with this one. she shakes her head emphatically, then jabs her muzzle toward the ground. 

stay, Avicus says, then looks out toward their would-be quarry. i—chase. to you. her eyes glint down upon the boy, hoping he understands. you know what to do, her expression reads. you had better.

if she can trap the deer between them, there will be no need for speed. and those long limbs, over this rough terrain?

she whirls and begins to trot, then picks it up into an easy lope. every muscle aches, and her scars, so freshly healed, threaten to burst open once more. the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. but she will be damned if she lets mere flesh get in the way of a good hunt.

by now she's out of the boy's view, and she bursts up and over a hill, startling the deer, which initially runs the opposite direction of where she needs it to go. like a faithful shepherd, she flattens out, hoping to turn it, to corral it—