Boleyn was a mystery to her mother – always wandering off alone, disappearing for days at a time. She never seemed to seek out Fathom’s company, and she never saw her daughter with anyone else, either. Maybe she had friends outside of Diveen, or maybe she just preferred to keep to herself. But the girl had proven that there was no cause for worry: she was a capable hunter, as made clear by her steady growth, and she sometimes even brought food back to the den. They weren’t close, but the thought counted for something. She may have failed Dieloch as a parent, but Boleyn was thriving, and that was something, too.

She often passed through the free lands beyond Diveen, sometimes hunting, other times just moving through to see what was out there. Boleyn’s scent could often be found in the Fields, but today it was faint, an old trail. Today she was somewhere else. Fathom’s nose was focused elsewhere, too, steady on the scent of a small burro that had wandered too far from home. She’d been following it since morning, the old, limping thing, biding her time until she had the advantage. The heat of the summer afternoon was wearing him down, bit by bit, but she had energy to spare.

He stopped to rest, lifting his left hind-leg to ease the discomfort, his breaths labored from heat, exhaustion, or both. She crouched behind him in the grass, patient and still, calculating. Now. Now was good. She broke out of hiding, swift on her sure, nimble paws, but he still had surprises in his old bones. His ears swiveled back and he took off, too, leading her on the briefest of chases. Adrenaline drove her forward, legs rolling beneath her in fluid strides. She fell in step with him easily and kept pace for a moment before diving into his weak side; even her slight build was enough to throw him off-balance. Their combined momentum brought them to the ground together, and she stood on his shoulder to hold him while she choked off his final bray of distress. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, his muscles went limp under her paws, and she was satisfied that it was done. She stepped off of the carcass and sat down in the grass, content to catch her breath in the sunshine, but a familiar scent snapped her head back up.

It was distinct, and heavy, and close. No. He was gone. He couldn’t just…come back. After everything he’d done! Above all else, he’d stolen her son, and she wanted answers. She jumped back to her feet, breathless now for a different reason, and scanned the area around her. A growl rose in her throat and her eyes darted from shadow to shadow. She was certain now. He was back. And he was here. But waiting, teasing. “Show yourself!” she demanded into the expanse of grassland. If he’d come back only to screw with her, then he was going to be disappointed. She hadn’t forgotten him, or the things he’d put her through, but she wasn’t the scared wolf he’d encountered before. He wasn’t going to toy with her today, or ever again. And she fully intended to make him know it.