It’s feeding time.

chants

Tonravik was summoned from the den. It took very little encouragement; by the time she had been called forth, it was later in the day and cooling down some. She had all of the desire in the world to hunt, but the pregnant female had to first take care of the instinctual priority to find her whelping done. This found, there was nothing to stop her from participating in normal activities; she did not show, and her cubs were well protected. She could hunt, unhindered by the cubs within. This was not so stressful a task.

She moved beside her mate, ear-to-ear with him, whiskers twitching as her nostrils drank in the scent of their prey. Moose, again. They were difficult prey, and they had proven that twice over as they had failed to bring one down. There had been none that had such an injury as this... not at the time. The herd was a fit one, well fed by the greenery of their land, and strong for it.

But here one was weakened from bloodloss and its travel... her tail lashed behind her as she mirrored her mate, the movement natural and easy. Her muscles rippled beneath her glossy furs. While they were unkempt and were as wild looking as she was, her pregnancy had brought a sheen and thickness to her fur. She was no more prettier for it; in fact, the leader was all the more irritable. The heavier coat called for snow. The heat was suffocating. But for now, in the cool evening that approached, she suffered through it in an easier fashion than she would in the heat of the day.

The alpha female watched her beta with apt interest.