Stone Circle And I will sing a lullaby

Her eyes blink out their weariness, her tread matching Skáld’s careful course. The night is warm on her skin and she raises her muzzle to take a settling breath. And she smells it- something like a memory having long ago faded to time.

“Tatanka,” slips her native tongue and she cuts a path with her nose through the tall grass, coming to the crest of a low hillock and pressing herself fast against it. Her mouth breaks in excitement, she shares a dazzling look with Skáld then searches the night.

The herd passes among the stones, equal in impression and spirit. But something sets them apart from others, a phenomena like she’d never seen- their pelts blatantly pale as newly shed snow.

“They’re… beautiful,” she breathes, caught in amazement and disbelief. White bison. She falls silent.

But it’s with a growing hunger.

She stares at the passage of the beasts, eyes roving over the muscles in their chests, the slow power of their strides, the heavy allure of their aroma as it brushes at her nose. It’s an incomparable bounty. It’s meat that would feed the pack for months. All mothers, and their cubs, even neighbors, too, if they shared it- if she raised that howl and rallied the pack.