Sheepeater Cliff a family of sheep

Confident in his packmates' ability to hold down the fort while he and his Issumatar investigated Tonraq's call, Kaniq followed Tonravik. The two sleek, sable wolves glided across the snowy landscape, soundless save for the crunch of brittle snow beneath their paws. Their breath puffed in billowy plumes of steam as they trotted, their pace devouring the miles with admirable time despite the distance that separated them from Tonraq.

It took them a while to find him, but when they did, it didn't take long to determine what had warranted his call. He greeted Tonraq with a waving tail and a companionable jostle with his shoulder before his dark amber gaze followed the others' to the reason for their being here: food. Game had been frightfully scarce these past weeks; while Tartok's dwindling numbers were on many counts a cause for worry, in this it was a blessing -- there weren't many mouths to feed. Were that not the case, they might all have been half-starved by now. As it was, they were just hungry enough to lick saliva from their lips as they stood gazing upward at the lofty heights upon which the sheep perched and wondering how in the hell they were going to get up there. After a few moments of puzzled silence, he looked at his packmates questioningly, wondering if either of them had any ideas.