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

The doe did not fall, yet nor did she keep running. Instead, she slowly fell back from the herd, which receded into the distance. She cantered in a circle, bleating her misery and still trying to shake off the pack of wolves. She was doomed to fail, of course, and slowly they closed in on her, shrinking the circle.

She backed toward the shade of a tall cedar, dripping blood on the virgin snow, and lowered her head. The elk shook her head defensively as she made her last stand. Yet she was growing very weak. In fact, her forelegs trembled before finally buckling so that the doe bowed forward, her chin sinking to the snow and her bloodied rump remaining in the air for several seconds before she toppled over onto her side. She was finished.

Peregrine leaped forward. A larger predator might have ensured the elk's death prior to consumption but his jaws were too small to render a merciful blow to her throat, so he didn't concern himself with it. He snatched onto her torn backside and began to feed while she still thrashed gently in the snow, though it wasn't long before she fell still, her rolling eyes freezing in her skull.

He growled throatily at anyone who dared approach those first few minutes, save for Fox. Yet when it was clear the elk was dead, her blood spreading in the snow, he barked to let his pack mates know they were welcome to feed, so long as they respected the hierarchy.