Heron Lake Plateau Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

Owen had to slow down again to frown dubiously at the white-dusted ground as his father's laborious explanations continued. He scraped a large white paw of his own across the earth's surface, frowned down at his paw and turned it to and fro as he mentally tried to project the shape of a deer's hoof atop its form. He supposed that maybe deer did have smaller feet, generally speaking, so far as he could remember...but didn't that also depend on the size of the deer? What happened if there was a really big one, with much bigger feet than Owen or Quixote or any other wolf's? Did the snow jump out of those giant deerhooves' way then or what? Owen put his paw back down and hurried after his dad once more as he ruminated busily on Quixote's words, his young imagination working overtime.

His dad's last statement had Owen raising his eyes to scan the branches overhead, which in turn caused him to stumble a little over one that had dropped a stick inconveniently on the ground right in front of him. What happens to the birds, then?! asked Owen as he recovered his stride, trying to pay a little more attention to the direction he was walking in although his wide eyes kept wanting to look around at his father's face and the birds' potential perches high above. He had been noticing a few less feathery creatures around, come to think. Crap, what happened if they were all about to disappear—was the pack supposed to just eat deer forever, and what happened when all of those herds ran out too? Owen wasn't much liking the prospects this "snow" stuff seemed to bring along with itself much thus far, yeesh. If they're disappearing as the snow appears do they ever reappear again? And how do you know which ones are coming back and when and how?! Not all of 'em are good to eat, I mean, look at X. If all the birds turned into Xes... Then that wouldn't be good, now would it? And how many deer are around, anyway?! And what happens if too many of them get buried and hidden in snow when all the birds go poof? What're we supposed to eat then? Owen's eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head, opening wider and wider as more and more disastrous scenarios came to mind. Gee, it was a good thing this alpha had Owen querying the supply lines, now wasn't it—otherwise maybe the whole pack would just turn into starving cannibals, see if they didn't.