Ashe
I’m having a blast—gods, I haven’t done anything like this in years. Every muscle in me is alive, firing on instinct, my paws moving before thought has time to catch up. I’ve snatched several already, and I haven’t missed once. The growl in my chest is low and pleased, breaking into sharp yips of delight, my tail wagging hard enough to send sprays of snow into the air.
It isn’t unusual for me to give myself over to the wolf like this. The part of me that lives for the chase, for the chaos.
I whirl at the rustle of wings and catch sight of two ningos, braver—or stupider—than the rest, charging straight for me. My lips pull back into a lupine grin, fangs flashing in the pale light. I wait until the first leaps, its body silhouetted in the air, and I catch it mid-flight, jaws closing with the satisfying crunch of bone. I shake it hard and fling it to the side.
The second hits the ground running, leaps, and clamps its beak on my ear in a flurry of wings, trying to peck the top of my head. I snarl, twisting sharply until it loses its grip, and then another shadow drops from above. I spring high, teeth snapping, and snatch it out of the air, the weight of it thrashing before going limp.
The flock is thinning now—many have fled to the trees—but there are still a few stubborn ones, a small knot flapping toward Deimos. One large bird plants itself in front of me, head low, stance wide, and I swear it’s like facing down a miniature bull. I bark at it, sharp and warning, but it only digs its talons into the snow and launches into a flapping run straight at me.
I meet it head-on, catching one wing in my jaws. A single, vicious shake sends its body swinging sideways, and I snap again, harder this time, until my teeth close on its spine. The fight leaves it instantly, and I let it fall still in the snow.
It isn’t unusual for me to give myself over to the wolf like this. The part of me that lives for the chase, for the chaos.
I whirl at the rustle of wings and catch sight of two ningos, braver—or stupider—than the rest, charging straight for me. My lips pull back into a lupine grin, fangs flashing in the pale light. I wait until the first leaps, its body silhouetted in the air, and I catch it mid-flight, jaws closing with the satisfying crunch of bone. I shake it hard and fling it to the side.
The second hits the ground running, leaps, and clamps its beak on my ear in a flurry of wings, trying to peck the top of my head. I snarl, twisting sharply until it loses its grip, and then another shadow drops from above. I spring high, teeth snapping, and snatch it out of the air, the weight of it thrashing before going limp.
The flock is thinning now—many have fled to the trees—but there are still a few stubborn ones, a small knot flapping toward Deimos. One large bird plants itself in front of me, head low, stance wide, and I swear it’s like facing down a miniature bull. I bark at it, sharp and warning, but it only digs its talons into the snow and launches into a flapping run straight at me.
I meet it head-on, catching one wing in my jaws. A single, vicious shake sends its body swinging sideways, and I snap again, harder this time, until my teeth close on its spine. The fight leaves it instantly, and I let it fall still in the snow.
inside my blood and bone
and their network of tendon and meat
you and i, our histories of hunting
and being the beast.
