The Floodlands I feel you in my arms, but you're hardly even with me

Her head swung upward and she turned to peer at her comrade, tail waving slowly behind her at his greeting. It seemed the trail ended here, though the two of them would know better. The land simply was more firm when not on an old waterbed. Silaluk was not to be discouraged or dissuaded by this. The head bitch was certain that she and Aklark would find the trail again, and her tail flicked behind her. They had filled their stomachs not too long ago with the flesh and blood of goat, and so their prowling lacked urgency. Still, it was an important task they worked on. They followed the herd as they went, and by the time the four-legged creatures were found perhaps it would be time to hunt again.

Silaluk craved the bison of the mountain. They were difficult beasts and the hunts were often long, but the resulting feast lasted for many days. The wolves of Tartok were as large as the creatures they hunted, it seemed; for now they followed these swifter creatures... but it was all a means to the certain end. Tonravik had spoken of the bison belonging on the Spire, and she looked forward to hunting those beasts again, but for now following any food at all was wise, for they all seemed to travel in one universal direction that would ultimately keep them all fed.