Ouroboros Spine Under the bludgeonings of chance

The herd ahead grew suspicious. She noted it when they began to glance back... but, they did not spook or startle. They were perhaps more bold than her prey of choice, the bison, but stupider. They kept moving. Tonravik let her tongue lick her upper lip, the remnants of crusted blood from her earlier hunt metallic and reminding her of her own drive. Close enough. 

Tonravik lurched forward, throwing herself from a trot to an easy canter. There was no need for an all out sprint, not from her, but she seemed to urge the other to throw caution to the wind. The alpha had no idea that this was a typical tactic for the other, and none the wiser suggested she do as such. Time to weed out the weak in the herd, and they themselves uneasily picked up the pace, surely believing their lives counted on it. She came close to one, and snapped at its heels. It lashed out with one leg with all the power it possessed, and Tonravik was quick to dodge and move out of its range. Their heavy, plodding foot-falls encouraged Tonravik to listen, and listen closely. Some lighter than others... calves. But, not in eyesight. 

She and this one could take down a calf, if they separated the herd.