Herbalists' Cache in the running and slowing of time

It was odd, she thought. Predator and prey, having a relationship that benefitted one another. In the time she had spent roaming, she never considered the possibility. Yet here it was. Wolves fed off the caribou, and the caribou no longer carry the burden of the weak for generations. Both thrived.

Other Shore made an attempt to recall what she could, and found little. Only little things, animals that could not harm her, were hers to hunt. Without a pack to aid her, larger prey became akin to predator. I have hunted, she responded, but only little animals. The likes of rabbits. 

The chieftain words were sharp, not meant to cut, but to reach a point. Weak caribou, easy to hunt, she noted to herself, not realizing she was muttering out loud. Dying caribou, beware. Simple enough, until that very principle became the difference between life and death.

The Lanzadoii, it seemed, rested on these straightforward fundamentals. Other Shore appreciated the simplicity. Not difficult to remember, and more importantly, this basis kept them alive. Well enough, at least. And hence the caribou man drilled it into her.

Must I learn to fight to hunt caribou? Other Shore asked. Fighting wolves and fighting caribou are not similar, no?