Cirrus@Austlit

'Dukhe lifted his shaggy brown head and sniffed. The villagers were at it again - burning incense, beating rapid footfalls on the hard clay earth and chanting in low, guttural voices and they did on the eve of each shrinking moon. Dukhe was so used to these strange monthly rituals that he let his eyelids grow heavy and stretched his forepaws towards the campfire flames, soaking up flickers of warmth. But as he was about to rest his head again, he caught a whiff of something heady, pheromone rich, skirting the opposite bank of the river just beyond reach of the firelight. The scent may have eluded a lesser nose, but it set the coarse hairs of his haunches bristling and exposed his canines to their root.' (Introduction)