From the top of her spire, hanging on to the frozen pole of iron, Ty seethed. Of all people, how could she have let herself fall into the kinds of ways that she hated of her fellow females? Of all people—
A figure moved in the distance, lean, tall and quiet. She pounced, her personal thoughts of self-hate gone. She paused for a moment, the indecisive predator. Then she nodded, closing her eyes and calling in the Panther. As she opened them, her body changed, her eyes stung, and she leapt toward the floor.
She marked her target as she always did, her self-anger only a memory as the determination of the Hunt gave her adrenaline. The dark figure was headed for the lower suburbs. Her slitted eyes narrowed as she marked her prey into the night.
She lurked on the side of a building, behind the crumbling wall, peering through a gap in the mud that made up the better part of the suburban house. Through the gap she could see the tall figure she had been marking. Its scent was now marked upon her nostrils—it stank of evil male. The Panther agreed, its singing given up by the thrill of the Hunt.
She pounced on the back of the door, watching the man creep to the upstairs room. She leapt to the ceiling, then leaned back to see through a hole in the mud-hay match-patch that made up the lump of supposed-to-be house frame.
Then her blood turned to ice. Within the room, blood staining the wooden floor and part of the bleached walls, was a small figure wrapped in white cloths. She peered in closer as the Panther growled, and as the figure moved slightly with a moan, she let go and slumped on all four paws, spreading her awareness over the sleeping city.
My pack, to me! Ty cried in her silent voice. I've found her!