Blood. Where had her friend gone? She had traveled south and west to find him. Was he going to the mountains? Blood. She could smell it on the wind but it was so subtle, like a lick when she wanted a bite. Fresh. Fresh. Fresh blood. It made her think about it rather than him or that special boy from the forests of the north. It had been a long time since she had smelt it. Whose blood was it? It wasn't wolf. Did it matter? Would it have changed her mind? Whoever it belonged to, she had already decided to begin following it along the river - downwind, hidden, quiet. She could be as elusive as the winter sun when she wanted to be. She could be like a shadow. She poured through the grass, eyes wide and ears tilted forward as her nose quivered with discovery. Fawn.

But somebody else was there. She hadn't heard him beneath the squeals of the fawn but now that she had gotten closer she could hear the hot, huffing breath of her own kind. It made her pause and rise, the white of her form above the sea of grass as she peered ahead and caught sight of him. For a moment, her head slowly rolled to a tilt of intrigue - was he bloody? Was he soaked? No, it was his fur. That made her take another step forward, a low whine beneath her breath as her stomach twisted with hunger. She could see the fawn then, see him as he ripped into its ear. But his head...his head was wrong.

She lacked the tact of other adults perhaps. Yet, she seldom had reason to fear - she had been born tall and broad, formidable despite the peculiar childishness to her eyes. Never had she needed to develop tact. Instead, she moved close enough to catch a real glimpse of the skull he wore, her mouth having fallen into an 'o' of awe before her eyes roamed down to the fawn that squirmed beneath him. "It can't hear you now." She pouted. Her ears dropped down and her tail sunk low. "You're playing wrong."