Meadowlark Prairie XXXV

adrenaline has a smell.

prey animals, sweating, the reek sharp and hot against the cool air. and the aroma of the wolves, too, surging with the hunt. all mingling with iron-tang blood; it cuts through winter winds like a knife.

the horse falls, and Avicus takes in the scent of the hunt, nostrils flared wide.

bleeding, dying, held firm;

she casts a dispassionate stare at the rolling eye, white crescent showing, then plunges into the curve of belly as hooves thrash then slow. if they're to vanguish Sovereign, they'll need all this meat; they'll need all their strength.

she feasts first.