but lestan knew a beast without canine nature. he had been pursued over a glacier by a cougar, once, once, and her french claws had struck the rot of fever into lestan and forever changed him.
his gut clenched. his hackles leapt. but he could do no more than stand as he was, ears trembling for more breath hanging in the sticky air, trying to quiet his own until his throat burned for air and his eyes to blink.
muscles began to protest and still lestan froze, perfectly inviting to the mosquitoes which had started to gather among the spikes and vine-choked brush.



