Sunset Valley It might've been the neighbor's kid, but I have my suspicions.

He turned his ears when he heard the approaching feet of something behind him, but did not look away from the calf until the voice came. Slanting a glance towards the girl, he saw the streak across her spine and thought of the bloodied ulaq he had left behind.

She appeared eager as well as talkative. The look about her reminded Tulimaq of the snow-woman and he did not immediately feel inclined to answer, only to investigate the calf further with sniffs and nudges.

It was born out of season. The caribou would not be in their birthing homes until the summer at the earliest, which made this small thing an oddity. What youthful population these hunters chased now were likely yearlings or in-betweeners, not yet old enough themselves to continue their line.

He gripped the back of its bent neck and tried to straighten it but, being firmly frozen, it took some effort and a great strain to Tulimaq's shoulders. He pried it free and as the neck unbent, there came a heavy crack. The head flattened loosely upon the snow after, chin down.

In the darkness of a nearby copse stood a young mother caribou, disoriented, and the crack drew its attention with a turn of its own head; but it did not run. Tulimaq noticed it by accident and murmured to the girl, Shh—there, the mother lingers.