Noctisardor Bypass Deep in the shady sadness of a vale

She was correct, in part. Wylla explained the merits of taking down—culling, Druid remembered abruptly—the weakest members of the herd. She nodded her understanding, her mind wandering back to the diseased caribou. By weeding out the ill, the wolves had also stopped or at least slowed the spread, or so the youth assumed.

Her mismatched eyes followed where the Zweite pointed. Druid’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the discolored snow, though she stepped toward it and dropped her head to sniff. It was certainly a pungent odor. It stung her nose, although maybe that was just the cold.

Even if we target the most vulnerable one of the herd, they’re so much bigger than us. How many wolves does it usually take to safely hunt a deer? Druid wanted to know.