she forced herself steady, careful not to snap a twig or stir too much brush. her chest ached with the held-in breath, but this was what she was good at, wasn’t it? the quail were close. she could hear them. her muscles tensed, a coil ready to spring. twitch flicked her ears once toward kirain’s position, hoping the other wolf was set.
then, quiet as a mouse, she crept into place, golden-green eyes locked on the blur of feathers in the brush. ready.