Sungazer stared blankly forward, not really seeing the tattered painting she held in her claws. Eyes the color of the river at dusk were unfocused, her ears cocked to listen to a tune that bled beneath her heartbeat, unheard by all others. The lithe Panthera was crouched down, hindpaws pressed deep into fertile soil still damp from a recent rain that hadn't even marred the artistry of the enchanted parchment. It had to be a spiritwalker's painting - only they could so preserve their works against the elements with which they worked.

There was no scent, no signature, no mark to indicate the artist or the owner of the scrap. Most of the painting had been eradicated, shredded away, leaving only this ragged piece that showed a yellow-haired human woman smiling sweetly against a background of green fields. The style, the brushstroke, and the preservation techniques were all Pantheran.

But no Panthera painted humans.

At the beastwalker's side, a massive black wolf lurked in the shadow of a tree, unusual green eyes bright in the gloom. He waited, patiently and uneasily, scenting the cool wind and eyeing the nooks and crannies of the forest around him, for his comrade to come to a conclusion and lead him on the next hunt. They always hunted, he and she, together as wolves. Hunted until the blood ran, hunted until their stomaches were full and they could lie in the grass drowsily.

Sungazer blinked slowly at an insistent whine from her wolf, looking up from the torn painting to meet his eager gaze. 'Sorry,' she whispered in her native tongue, 'but not yet. Not yet...' She gazed again at the image she held in her hands, sharp clawtips snagging on the roughened parchment. Bright colors and a flat-faced smile made her gaze unfocus again, unable to imagine why a skilled Pantheran artist would draw a human doing anything but dying or killing.

After a long, long moment, the beastwalker sighed and tucked the image into a small pouch at her hip. 'I'll find no answer staring at it,' she told her wolf, who cocked his head attentively. 'Let's hunt.'

The black-furred lupine smiled with sharp fangs and followed his comrade - not into the wilds for their prey, not this time. They trekked into the heart of Pantheran territory, into Kurajos. Den.

Sungazer would find the artist who painted a happy human.