Ouroboros Spine foxfire

the change in the young hunter sparkled between them for a fraught moment, but the duck's small head was up, gaze trained upon the treeline. three shapes now, the wolves downwind. instinctive hunger frayed in her stomach, but their village had grown. perhaps one would not be enough. and she had told the boy they would not hunt today.

"they are fierce together. strange to see their teeth," she whispered toward him, before at last, reluctantly, the moondrop pulled away from their game-trail and set a path for she and nuak opposite the boars, slowly across the teeth of the spine. "there is a woman here who has the name of lótë. she knows the way of the herds in the valley and upon the stones around moonglow. she has followed them, as we followed the boars."