Storm lunged forward, her weight pinning him to the ground. There was crunching, bones breaking, and the warrior’s scream rose in pitch, then was cut short as black blood and gore splattered trees and foliage. ‘I’m glad she’s on our side,’ muttered Camlin. In the distance they heard the first sounds of the camp stirring, a dog barking, a voice calling. Storm was standing with one paw on her kill, her muzzle dripping. She raised her head and howled.
