Qeya River But often it happens, you know

The Rocky Mountain sheep had flourished in the pack’s absence. Without wolves chasing them and robbing them of their young, their herds had grown. In place of the little string there was now a herd that dotted the mountainside as they spread apart to graze. When Spring came, the heavy ewes would birth again- and head to greener pastures that were lower in elevation.

He caught a young ram by surprise, and fortunately before the yearling had had the chance to bleat a warning to the others. He had strayed down below the treeline, eager to find more food, but his greed made him an easy target. 

The ram’s legs were stiff by the time he dragged it toward where he knew @Star Eater made her den, but the snow had at least kept its thick, curly pelt relatively clean. He put on a high voice, and a fake accent that made him sound like he could have played an extra in the movie “Fargo.” Hey!—a I got a delivery for, ah, one Mrs. Star Eater, Hey sang out, though immediately felt a bit like a fool for changing his voice. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be home, and maybe his foolishness might so unnoticed.