Morningside Cuesta skaiplei

there was no hope of heda taking a deer alone. she watched wistfully as a herd of them passed, then a scattering of elk. today's accompaniment was rain, something she had come to hate. rivenwood held its own herds and own resources, but in unexplained defiance she had come here.
the aspiring huntress explored the cuesta, gasping a little as the drop almost took her over the edge. an hour into her search had given the rain enough time to churn the ground below into thick mud studded with sharp boulders.
an idea came to her.
if she could just — if she could stampede some of the deer and elk over the earthen cliff, she might wound one or two on the stones below. it would be hard to do alone, to keep them guided and terrified enough not to veer. an enraged animal would strike ardently, and one blow would more than likely be her end. failure would cost her the day and frighten every other prey animal within several miles with the vibrations of the running herd.
but success would mean life and no hunting for a while. two would be veritable wealth. she wouldn't have to leave druid's side, once the meat was cut up and brought home. the antlers could be toys. the guts would be restorative.
yes. she glanced up toward the high walls of the bypass, knowing her sister lay there healing, surrounded by growing pups. heda needed to succeed.
in the downpour she stood, thinking.