Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 053

She limped to her mate’s side where he lay on the frozen ground, the hated spear having passed nearly half its length through his body.  She licked his muzzle once, then turned to survey the carnage.

Three others of the pack lay dead and two more struggled to rise, failing thus far.  Only two yet remained whole, but with her jaws they would be enough.

The prey lay on its back, struggling, waiting.  She approached it from behind, to avoid the flailing feet and to hide her presence until the killing moment.

And then she felt the Cold One’s touch.

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