Sheepeater Cliff a family of sheep

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With the recent departure of the Dragonwatchers, the mountain goats have returned to the legendary Sheepeater Cliff with a vengeance. However, the quickly arriving winter has made the already dangerous territory far more treacherous than usual... for now even the nimble and surefooted could slip on unseen ice and fall to their death. As if they know this, the population of mountain goats remain in the higher reaches where they have a better chance of surviving the hungry jaws of wolves.

He paced at the place where sheer rock met the flatlands, the scent of sheep driving his instinct mad. It was a cruel joke for the remaining ungulates in the region to defy gravity thus. And though Tartok was small, and though they were not yet starving, Tonraq knew that if even one of the surefooted creatures met its end, it could feed their small number for quite some time. It would be wise to fill their caches before even these foolish animals had fled the area.

But confident as Tonraq was, a mistake while pursuing the sheep would prove deadly. He knew this. He did not know if it was yet worth it.

He paused for a moment, and lifted his head to howl a message back towards the mountain with powerful lungs. It would reach Tartok, perhaps distant but still clear. It echoed off the sheer cliff face, and the sheep bleated in surprise and discomfort at the sound... but none fell; in fact, not a single one had moved.

Tonraq resumed his agitated pacing, thick muscles rippling beneath glossy black fur.

Tonravik had heard him call. He was correct in his thought that she would not have heard it clearly, but one thing was distinct in his notes: come. Kaniq and others would remain to guard the territory, and Tonravik would go to aid Tonraq. Her strides were long, but she did not exert the entirety of her energy. By the time she arrived, she merely followed his scent trail.

She was pleased when she found him; for she also smelled the quarry he was near. Her tail waved left and right. He had always been a good tracker; Siku had been the very best, and Tonraq was very much so his mothers son. Evidently, he had her nose. Tonravik licked her chops and shifted next to him. Here, in this time, she would let him decide what it was they ought to do. He had found them, and Tonravik sorted through roles he would play within Tartok. Already he was proving to be invaluable, but she had never doubted him once.

Confident in his packmates' ability to hold down the fort while he and his Issumatar investigated Tonraq's call, Kaniq followed Tonravik. The two sleek, sable wolves glided across the snowy landscape, soundless save for the crunch of brittle snow beneath their paws. Their breath puffed in billowy plumes of steam as they trotted, their pace devouring the miles with admirable time despite the distance that separated them from Tonraq.

It took them a while to find him, but when they did, it didn't take long to determine what had warranted his call. He greeted Tonraq with a waving tail and a companionable jostle with his shoulder before his dark amber gaze followed the others' to the reason for their being here: food. Game had been frightfully scarce these past weeks; while Tartok's dwindling numbers were on many counts a cause for worry, in this it was a blessing -- there weren't many mouths to feed. Were that not the case, they might all have been half-starved by now. As it was, they were just hungry enough to lick saliva from their lips as they stood gazing upward at the lofty heights upon which the sheep perched and wondering how in the hell they were going to get up there. After a few moments of puzzled silence, he looked at his packmates questioningly, wondering if either of them had any ideas.