Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 031

A strange unease soured the pack leader’s guts, jerking him from a dreamtime filled with fierce joy and easy kills.  His hackles rose as the faint scent of lost honour tickled his nostrils.

Somehow the prey had come to them.

Rising, a long growl curled from his throat.  His pack began to stir as a shadow blurred into his mate.  She shook snow from her coat, the question blazing in her eyes as the others roused from slumber to gather around him.

He met each gaze then, with a single snort, turned and began to run, knowing they would follow.

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