It wasn't long before Sonora smelled blood, and she picked up her pace, putting on a last burst of speed before drawing near the downed buck. Grayson and another--likely of his pack--were facing off against a fat, redneck hunter. He smelled sour, 3-day-old sweat and God knew whatever else filling her overly-sensitive nose and making her want to sneeze. Instead, she crept silently around the clearing, her eyes never leaving that knife in the man's hand. The way he was waving it at Grayson made a growl rise in her throat, although she cut it off before it grew in strength.<br/><br/>Sonora hated hunters with a passion. Trophy hunters especially. She had been quite heavily involved in animal rights campaigns during her college career, and she donated to several charities regularly. Crouching low, she inched forward, her body tensed and ready to attack, should it be required. Grayson must have scented her by now, and although she was curious about the other shifter, there would be time later to introduce herself. Right now, this dumb hunter was their biggest problem.