Moonspear feed the bear

the alpine brush is enough to disguise pauk as he crawls away from the ulaq, slipping down a shaded path that wove between the evergreens and sprouted with weeds from infrequent use. what he sought was something he'd found the other day while on a little mid-afternoon walk.
the half-eaten, partially rotten corpse of a fish, pulled from the snowmelt ponds by what must have been some kind of raptor. one could see the talon-marks, the missing scales, the glassy eyes, the tiny, delicate ribs which interlaced the poor creature's inner cavity.
and what pauk wanted with this fish was not to pull it apart, nor eat it, but to bury it.
from the undergrowth he'd plucked a beautiful, newly bloomed lupine, and found a curious selection of small, smooth rocks which would serve as decoration. his problem now was the task of digging a hole. his paws are large, as one typically sees in a boy of his junior standing, but not exactly the strongest; and the terrain is tough on this side of the mountain, hardened by thousands of tiny roots which belonged to plants of the forest floor.
what on earth was one meant to do in such a predicament?