It was times like these, when the weather dropped 30 degrees overnight, that Olive realized how deep they were into winter. The snow fell heavy snow, and the tree branches bowed under the weight of it, and all scent trails were absolutely deadened so the dove sought refuge amongst the forest. She had always been a wolf of the forest, one who liked the darkness and appreciated how the strong arbors shielded her from the buffeting winds. It always seemed to be a sacred, safe place —​ although it almost never was. 

After a brief respite, the sylph managed to scent prey and followed her nares to a skinny marmot, similarly brought about by the absence of snow beneath the wood's canopy. Hungry and wishing for a meal, Olive assimilated with the shadows; stepping lightly and deliberately so that her presence would remain undetected. She tried not to think about this action — the killing — too much; a diet of leaves and berries was a luxury that her solitude could no longer afford. 

When Olive eventually began her charge, the creature fluttered and skittered across the landscape towards a rocky place amongst a thicket of low-lying, dead trees. With this sudden change in terrain, the featherlight woman understepped, stubbed her foot and tumbled lightly against the earth. Though she sprang right back up, a sudden twinge of pain caused her to pause in her pursuit — and her muzzle shot down to immediately begin licking at her smarting paw. One of her long nails had been cropped; torn off by the mislaid contact with the ground. 

The marmot sneered and escaped, leaving its huntress [who entertained a deep understanding of karma and karmic law] to whine and lick at her bleeding paw.