Herbalists' Cache young punks, get off my lawn

It was an unusually warm afternoon, and the old she-wolf found that with the increase in temperature came a decrease in the stiffness of her joints.  So when a rabbit, fattened for the winter famine, crossed her path, she gave chase with a glad bark despite the pile of fish bones she left behind her.  Two meals was better than one for a lone wolf, especially one facing her last winter.

Saxifrage kept her senses trained on the rabbit that seemed to linger just out of her reach.  She wasn't as fast as she had been in her younger years and it wasn't likely she'd make this kill.  Still, the pounding of her heart and paws felt good.

When a large bull elk abruptly stepped out in front of her, she skidded, veering to the side while her limbs windmilled haphazardly.  Somehow, her wild flailing achieved a weird sort of equilibrium and she managed to regain her footing, but she had no time to revel in life's little miracles.  She sped off, wincing at the renewed ache in her elderly limbs, and when she judged she was a good enough distance away from the bull she gingerly came to a stop.

There was the stiffness, right on schedule.