Honeyed Pasture kitchen fork

The other wolf seemed to catch a hint, if the way the caribou jolted into motion was any indication. They came trotting towards her, without ever thinking of what was in front of them. Just trying to get away from the grey shape she could just barely make out.

They did not consider the grasses, and not for the first time, Vairë considered herself lucky for being the color she was. She watched the herd, eventually identifying the weakest link. Older, from the grays, with a prominent limp that kept her behind the rest of the caribou.

Moondoe readied herself, and lunged between one caribou and the next, driving the wounded individual from the rest with sharp snaps of her teeth as the others peeled off into the darkness.