Dawnlark Plains Rush

Zahir lifted her nose to the air, taking a few deep breaths. There was no prey scent here, save for the weasel she had just killed. It was likely that her hunting had scared off whatever had been left. She frowned, then set off at a lope westwards. She would go for several miles without speaking, until she scented a herd.

"Here. I want an adult doe." The more meat she had, the better. She slipped off into the tall grass, making her way closer to the herd.