Come on, girls, are you ready to play?

Redrum’s golden eyes flickered with a predatory gleam as he prowled through the gathering shadows, his muscles twitching in anticipation. The scent of bison, thick and musky, hung in the air, stirred by the cool breeze that whispered through the willows. His nostrils flared, and his long ears pinned back, catching the soft rustling of his packmates emerging from the woods since he’d previously called them. The towering bull, leading its herd through the trees, had trespassed into the land his mother seeked to claim, Medusa, had marked it as her own though, and this would not stand. He would do anything for his mother. Anything.

A low growl rumbled in his throat, the call to arms subtle, wild yet commanding, as he circled them in a loose semi-circle, his posture tense and deliberate as his tail lashing left to right. He steadied his breath, looking back, golden gaze flicking to each of them, a silent challenge in his stance. “The bull... is ours.” The red brute rasped between halting breaths, his body coiling with the promise of bloodshed. There would be no mercy tonight.

And then the young brute moved, forward, onward into a careful stalk to attach his chosen prey.


"Redrum Xanthos Mortem"