Vultures.
That's how I would describe these desperate males as they see a lone she-wolf rushing to cross the veil of the Run. Like vultures scenting a carcass in the dessert, the moment the males scent a female they descend on her and fight to mate her. As soon as a male inserts himself inside her, the others back away knowing that she-wolf has been claimed and slink off to find another victim. I feel pity for the poor girls, every fiber of my being wanting to run back and save them but that would lead me to being claimed if I am not careful.
The sun had begun to set a few minutes ago, the sky a vibrant mix of red, orange and yellow. I have until midnight to cross the veil when the magic in the moon recedes for the next six month until The Run returns. I can see the wolves waiting
