The knotting in my belly is surly a sign; the ancestors reach me through multifarious gestures and I know enough to attend! I slow in my approach to the ridge and adopt a crouch. Is the scrub ahead thick enough to give me cover? Or worse, provide cover for something else? Anyone should answer.
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The scrub partially conceals the entrance to a small cave that cuts into the ridge, the den of a desert predator that's hungry after a long night with no prey.