Ouroboros Spine Under the bludgeonings of chance

don't feel bad!!

Tonravik heard Salamander baying at the animals, watching the wave of them quiver, lurch, like a guitar string that curved subtly as it was strung, a hard-to-see shift in an otherwise straight line, but a shift she noted with her hunters eyes. It was enough to see ones misstep. Ones being overwhelmed by the agitated and anxious herd, who pushed past one that had stumbled, who kept pushing even as it tried to rise and right its wrong, who trampled the fallen creature with the knowledge that they need not be the swiftest in the bunch, simply swifter than the slowest. Tonravik sprinted into the mix, causing the herd to move hastily, stupidly; she need not deliver any killing blow, not when they dealt hundreds.

And yet, as the dust began to settle in the wake that they had left, the sides of the creature still moved slowly but surely. Tonravik did not heed this, lingering behind it for a moment before lurching forward, moving to test the animal. It was too weak to fight, its ribs broken. The wounds were all fresh, none old. This was life. Unfortunate for some, full of horrible surprises. And for Tonravik, on this day, this surprise was not so horrible, but welcome. So as it lived and breathed, Tonravik again approached, knowing that even though the animal was not compliant, there was nothing it could do. She began to eat, ears twitching as she looked to the wolf she had named, her tail waving high and threateningly behind her.
No one ever thought they hungered until they tasted blood. There was no reason to curb her appetite; when food came, she ate. In the wild, who could say when your next meal would be? Even with the strength of their pack, things were brilliantly, and terribly, unpredictable.