The Floodlands But I don’t get out much these days

For reference (though it's grim) I got the idea from the occurrance of winter ticks which can actually drain and incapacitate a moose over time.

Niamh regarded the creature as it remained more or less motionless, only turning its head when it finally caught wind of the predators nearby. Its eyes were sad and tired, the mark of a creature who had no energy to fight for its life, but just enough energy to feel the remorse for its own impending doom. Colt questioned the creature's ability to flee, and Niamh shrugged. "I doubt it." The moose didn't appear to be too old- maybe four or five years old at best- but it was too hard to tell in its anemic state. Patches of its fur had thinned out, revealing whiteish skin which from a distance appeared bumpy from the amount of ticks clinging to it. 

"I don't think this'll be tough. How 'bout Eljay and I split up and keep it more or less immobilized- a hard stare ought to do it with this fella- an' Colt you can go in for the kill?" She asked. "I'll be right there if he does find some energy," She said, glancing over as the moose began to slowly amble away from the predators at a swaying, slow walk. It faltered as it dragged its large hooves through the thin layer of snow, its toes catching on a slender stick and causing it to stumble slightly. "Yeh, let's just put this guy out of his misery." She said, flicking her ears forward, and if her companions agreed to their roles, she'd move forward into a trot, watching the moose for any unlikely sudden reactions.