Bitterroot Valley she had been forced into prudence in her youth,

With a small, albeit bright, grin and an enthusiastic nod, the speckled she-dog slunk away through the tall grass and low brush. Tupilak had to physically restrain herself from scampering in her excitement or rushing -- invigorated by the fresh air in her lungs, the heavy musk of the deer close by, and the anticipation of the hunt. Each step of the merle's feathered paws was placed carefully, avoiding any deadfall that might crackle and crunch under her weight or any stones she might knock aside. 

When, after eons had passed between the heavy thuds of her heart, she had found herself in the proper position behind the content herd, Imaq took a quick breath, lips twitching as if to give shape to the wordless thought she offered the inua. 

Then, she was doing what shepherds did best.

Perhaps it was unrefined, even domesticated of her. The Glacier cur burst from her hiding spot, racing toward the deer -- darting between the bodies that suddenly reared and twisted and whirled with panic. A flash of gold and speck of ivory was seen here or there as she snapped at the ungulates' ankles and legs, flitting away from the flying hooves and clods of dirt. 

When the majority of the deer had cleared out, her cracked gaze of seaglass landed on the targeted doe, limping heavily as she attempted to flee to safety with the receding members of her clan. Imaq lunged, speeding towards her and circling around the wounded grazer with care. 

She kept a safe distance away yet stood her ground as she barked at the injured doe, jumping back to avoid the lowing creature's clumsy kicks. Almost a dance between predator and prey. Until Imaq happened to snap her fangs a little too close to the deer's foreleg for comfort. It turned then, towards the rise where Mahler was hidden, picking up surprising speed as terror gave it a second wind. 

The wolfdog followed closely, nipping at the doe's pale underbelly to herd her along.