Lone Star Mountain combustion

Lemongrass pressed herself closer to the ground, her light fur making her all but invisible in the snow. She prowled around the herd, keeping the other wolf within her sights and staying where she could smell the elk. She was excited and hungry, her belly like a hollowed out cave now. She was more than ready to pounce, but she let the other take the lead. Lemongrass was inexperienced, and she knew it. She'd seen other packs hunt as one, as a unit of muscles and fur and teeth and claws. She wanted to be like that, but she knew her own limits, and just prayed that the other was as good at this as they seemed. She looked at her partner with eager amber eyes, her tail puffy and stiff. She was ready to give chase, if only the other would give the signal.

What's wrong? Lemongrass wanted to ask, but the constant clashing and banging of the bucks battling each other gave her pause. If this got messy, the last thing she wanted to do was get caught in it. She just flicked her ear curiously.