Okar sniffed the air, and the smell of the burning of Humaine dwellings filled his nostrils.

A dribble of drool escaped his lips as he thought of the pungent scent of Humaine and the exquisite sensation of sinking his sharp teeth into the soft yielding flesh.

He surged onward again, the smell nourishing his hopes and his body, waving his pack along silently.

Okar's long years as head of the pack had made him a wise, if cruel, leader.

Ignoring the mats in his fur and the thorns in his paws, he crept forward, staying close to the ground.

Malach and his sister, Magan, did the same.