Herbalists' Cache though winter be a brittle beast

It had taken him some time to venture north, his brisk traveling pace slowed by the deepening chill of winter. It became more and more difficult to find all that he needed to sustain himself as the frigid weather tightened its grip upon the world. as he drew northward, though, he felt a curious touch of nostalgia mingled with comfort. the landscape grew colder and gained the height of the  ancient coniferous forest, and he realized that this taiga was very similar to the one in which he had been raised. he had returned to the environment he was built for, and it relieved him somewhat to think that his arctic blood would carry him through.

He caught a thin young hare, pausing to eat one of the thighs. His white maw was soon painted in shades of pink and red, teeth shredding meat and smaller leg bones; the longer bones were discarded into the snow. He picked up the remainder of the kill and continued on his days-long search for a place to bed down and rest for a few days.

it was not long before he noticed a scattering of freshly overturned earth. he knew immediately what it meant. some animal had dug itself a den, and recently. he approached it, unable to determine what kind of animal had created the burrow until the wind changed and brought him the scent of a canine, a female. He felt his belly somersault. In a perfect world, the den would have belonged to a small animal that he could eat before claiming the shelter as his own, but instead, the space was taken by one of his own kind. as always, encounters with other wolves were potentially dangerous.

He stood staring at the entrance, realizing that there were two blood-scents in his nostrils. That of the hare he held in his jaws, and that of the wolf lurking in the cavern. She was injured. Still,  he could not decide whether to approach or to flee.