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Summary
He sprinted through the forest. The wind combed through his blackish-dark brown fur, as the scent of the woods filled his lungs and touched his tongue. Besides the scent and taste of blood that coats his muzzle, fangs, tongue and claws.
She's heading right where he wanted her to go.
He let out the call, alerting his pack that he was herding her towards their territory.
They'd be able to smell her blood, let alone hear her cry out for help.
'It's almost over, Little One. It'll all be over.'