Blacktail Deer Plateau now that the evening is slowing

there is a prickle of wariness as she steps near, the gentle shifting of the ice beneath her giving her pause. gently, she bends to nose at the snow settled lightly above it. a foreign voice, then, a curt question. clem starts, attempting to swivel to face the woman, ears slicked back against her crown. 

but it's ice, not solid ground beneath her paws, and as she works to steady herself her forepaw punctures through the ice. it's all downhill from there; she falls onto her shoulder and more of it gives way, and it's shockingly cold, and she's struggling to heave herself up onto the ice again, but shock makes everything seem so slow. and then she's floundering, one thin forelimb extended across what remains of the solid ice, the rest of her half-submerged and struggling towards the edge.