in the forest-steppe, animals like her are not destined to live long. a small antelope, whose legs had barely gotten stronger, was jumping between the dwarf trees, trying to hide in the bushes, or mix her scent with the grass and earth, getting rid of the scent of the ‘victim’. a scent that one of the hyenas, who had been chasing poor Tilo for three minutes already, could smell perfectly well, not lagging behind. lucky that the toothy hunter was alone, without his pack, which would have most likely simply bitten the antelope to death in a matter of seconds. it seemed that death itself was already biting her by the tail, devouring her with sharp fangs. a little more and Tilo would definitely fall to the ground under the weight of a huge dog. a dog that clearly could not make the sounds she had just heard…

a wild, almost deafening roar, something feline. a sudden piercing pain in the withers, as if someone's fangs had already begun to tear it apart. the beast, slightly larger than that hyena, grabs Tilo by the skin at the neck and with incredible force presses him to the ground, forcing him to lie down. that wild dog stops in a daze, breathing furiously and raising its eyes to him. to the leopard.