Redhawk Caldera PACK HUNT — Turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime

The wolf pack dogged the herd, the wolves seizing every opportunity to needle the chosen doe. Gradually, she began to slow down and straggle behind her brethren, fresh blood draining from the shallow wounds on her legs and underside. None of them was fatal, of course, but altogether they were doing their job of weakening the elk.

The hours passed until the gap widened far enough for the relentless wolves to make a more decisive move. Peregrine barked his intention to his wolves, then suddenly galloped at the bleeding doe. With a savage snarl, he reared onto his hind legs and seized her by the rump. He buried his fangs into her backside, trying to drag her to the ground even as shook his head back and forth, tearing at the meat of her haunch.

She kicked at him again and Peregrine took a blow to the chest that forced him to release his grip. He fell back, struggling to catch his breath, a hunk of flesh in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, coughed, then licked his bloodied lips and sprang at her again, angling to further tear at the ragged hole he'd already ripped open in her buttocks.

If they managed to pull her to the ground, someone could take her by the throat and put her out of her misery. But if she stayed on her feet, the wolf pack would be happy to eat her alive.