Hope

The moment the hunt ends, we’re split—remaining females off to the far side of the clearing, males herded in the opposite direction like livestock after a roundup. I don’t protest. None of us does.

They are the old rules.

But this circumstance is new.

I don't like it, but there is nothing I can do at the moment.

Ben walks close beside me, his shoulders tight, his head snapping toward the treeline every time a sound echoes from where the females disappeared. He hasn’t said a word yet, but I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat off sunbaked stone.

He’s worried. Of course he is. His...