running from the hounds [★] private

[Misty]

✯ — Keona snapped another twig between her hands.  The birds had flown away.  The small critters had fled into their burrows and crevice homes.  The occasional rustle and whine by her companion, who had kept their distance since morning, had ceased all together.  The forest was silent.  Almost silent.  Foreign howls haunted the trees.  She had never heard a wolf or coyote like it; she knew it was new.  She knew it could be dangerous.  She knew it was in a pack.  Her arrows were sharp, but she could not fire fast enough to protect herself from an entire mass of foreign canines.

Crack.  She threw the broken stick onto the ground, gritting her teeth.  Her people were far away.  She had months left of the initiation to go; there was no use in chasing after them, crying about strange wolves.  That, afterall, would defeat the point of the entire endeavor.  Didn't make the baying any less unnerving.  They're getting closer.  They were, she had deduced, hunting.  The mystery of it all, was what, exactly.  Keona had not found any signs of good game in the forest for a few days now.  The plains were a better bet, but with the changing season, it was unlikely.  She herself would have to migrate soon as well, unless she wanted to freeze in the coming snows.  Leaving was simply more daunting than she liked to admit, now that she was all alone with no tribe to ensure she was going the right direction.  Not that they'd care if you got lost anyway.

There was something moving nearby.  The lone hunter stood up sharply, but quietly, hand snapping to her bow and notching an arrow.  She held her breath, counting the steps, the snapping of twigs underfoot.  Two legs.  A person then.  Running fast.  Grimly, Keona supposed she had found the wolf-prey.  That did not mean however, they were friendly, and she held fast, a pair of sightless sea-green eyes narrowed in weary determination.

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