Down in the ravine, the feast of the herd had been going on. Mama Grath shoved the broken bodies in front of baby grath, and watched him eat with satisfaction. The sound was a rhythmic, sickening wetness… the sound of grinding bone and tearing gristle.
He didn't look back at the remains of Drogg or the others. He felt no pity for them. They were the wolves who followed a bigger wolf, and in the end, they were simply eaten by the forest.
He turned his eyes back to the trail Vurok had left.
Sol stood up slowly. Mama Grath was busy tending to her baby and the other Graths were busy turning the remaining lackeys into fertilizer. So, they obviously wouldn't follow Vurok.
"My turn," he murmured.
"Vurok survived the herd," Sol whispered, the words sounding less like human speech and more like the dry rattle of a snake in the brush.
