Sheepeater Cliff death is only the end if you assume the story is about you

For a while, Thuringwethil stares at the bird. She doesn’t know how long it’ll take him to eat, or how much he can eat, but certainly he can’t devour the entire sheep. If neither she nor Étoille have to hunt, it will make their time easier. A sheep is big enough for the both of them if there’s enough left after it’s been picked apart. Content, for the time being, she lowers her rear to the ground and continues to wait, up until she hears a low chuff of her companion coming up beside her.

Slowly, she turns to look at him, but her attention moves right back to the kill. She sits in silence for a while longer, the eagle picking his head up and looking in their direction. He similarly stares back at them, though doesn’t seemed fazed by their presence.

“We could chase it off,” she says and glances up the ridge a little, wondering if there were others. If more of the same bird came along, there wouldn’t be any left. “Or wait.”

Thuringwethil licks her lips, saliva pooling in her mouth. She doesn’t want to wait any more than she has to and she’s willing to take the risk if the brute is. With the help of a second wolf, they could be successful, but she doesn’t make a move forward until she knows what they’ll be doing.

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