Verdant Basin rectifier

Their prey, namely the larger ones, had learned well how to communicate with their predators. The show they put on could last for many hours. Their strut, their bugle, said: I am healthy; I will be too difficult to take down; I am strong, and to hunt me would take more energy than you can spare—you will not fell me. They were good at their craft, but the endurance of wolves while they patiently weeded out what the truth was could often outmatch the performers. There were times this did not occur. But those of Tartok were not known for giving up. Not only this, but the conditions they survived rarely would allow it. Tartok was fortunate in the numbers they carried, but it also always meant more mouths to feed. The bison or the muskox could not always be bested, but the caribou frequently could—though of course, their favored fare were the larger beasts. It explained their ability to become so large themselves. They were not stupid hunters, however. While there were many a thick wolf within Tartok, in matters of the hunt and matters of the wolf they were the wisest of all. 

Her own thoughts mirrored Kavrak's. This one was not long for the world. Kuasak snapped at it, and retreated—it spun to face her, inviting Kavrak in for a moment as it heeded Kuasak wholly. But Kuasak, this time, was two steps ahead of it; her large size did not permit her the swiftness of leaner wolves, and she knew to think ahead now. Her ears flicked as she listened for her sister, her eyes upon their future victim, cold and calculating.