Moonsong Glacier the sun is not a-bed

Like sunset's final light, he picked his way through the meadow's grasses. A wolf who could not hunt was doomed to die alone; this he believed was in all wolves. The instinct to take down prey was one no wolf could deny if hunger trod their belly.

Quiet, he kept each step calculated and calm, until the doe was in sight. She was beautiful! And it would be a worthy meal for moonpack, and a worthy pelt for Winter Song. 

If they could catch it. 

Their first hunt together. Like ma and da's, all that time ago.

He couldn't let her down.