One must die so that others may live

There was one last thing she needed to do before she returned home - stock up the larder for when she wasn't able to leave the sheep during lambing. While she could have waited until she returned, and saved herself the weight of a full makeshift travois, she didn't want to disturb the heavily pregnant sheep or draw scavengers to them in such a delicate time by hunting and preserving food so close to their pasturage.

She had found the trail of a caribou. Normally she wouldn't have bothered with such large prey, without anyone else to help her, but this one was old and the winter had been hard on it already. Its hooves dragged in the snow - frozen into a crust in this last cold snap before spring - and the trail was tinged pink with blood where the ice had cut even the tough caribou's skin. The caribou was alone, which would help considerably in taking in down. There'd be little fat on it, which was a pity, but that very emaciation would make a kill easier. There would be enough meat on even an old starving doe to feed a small wolf and a collie dog for well over all of the lambing, supplemented with fresh small game. Besides, if she didn't put the caribou down some other predator or scavenger would anyway, and she'd be still looking for food while some bolder scavenger was fat and content.

She could run on top of the icy crust, mostly, her light weight compared to the caribou making it easy for her to not break through. But the times that she did break through, where the ice was a little weaker, the edges bit cruelly into her paws and legs. Most times it did no damage past the initial pain, but soon enough her tracks too had a faint pink tinge. Luckily the snow made the caribou's trail very easy to follow, and she made swift progress along it. The cold from the frozen ground and the bite of the wind sapped her energy, but she hunched her shoulders against it and continued on. The caribou would undoubtedly seek the shelter of the trees to escape the wind herself, so Corbie would have reprieve soon if she just kept going.

The trees would negate the caribou's natural advantage of being able to run faster in a dead sprint. But they'd also have less snow, which would negate Corbie's advantage of running on the snow while the caribou would need to plow through it. Maybe if she got the caribou panicked enough to run blindly she could curve her around back into the snowy plain...

She passed into the shelter of the trees with a sigh of relief at the cessation of the wind. The snow was less deep here too, so her paws merely crunched over it. Now there was just the grinding cold. Lifting her muzzle she sampled the air, noting how much fresher the blood-tainted caribou scent was. The caribou must have reached the shelter and been able to go no further in her exhaustion.

The wind was all but cut off in the trees, but what there was of it was blowing on the diagonal away towards Corbie, so it would be a little harder for the doe to catch Corbie's scent. She took the time to stretch a bit to work muscles gone crampy with cold, then shook herself thoroughly and continued along the trail.

When she came upon the caribou it was a surprise to her, because the caribou was simply standing in a tree bowl with her head down, nearly touching the ground, and didn't even move until Corbie was nearly on her. It wasn't until the doe threw her head up with an exhausted snort that Corbie had realized she was there. If she hadn't been as startled as the caribou, the hunt might have been over right then. Unfortunately the caribou recovered first and took off in a shambling run, necessitating a chase. The sharp cold air burned in her lungs with each deep breath as Corbie loped after the caribou - the only relief was in the knowledge that each breath cost the caribou as well.

Corbie made certain to angle herself to one side, slowly driving the caribou in a wide loop towards the snowy plain she had just left. The caribou seemed to not even notice she was being herded. She shambled with her head outstretched, gasping for each breath and nearly blind to what Corbie was doing except to know that she was still there, practically at her hip, encouraging her with bites and nips to go that way and to keep running. Corbie had to dodge hooves to do so, because even tired the big deer would kick out at her as soon as she got too close.

And suddenly they were both out of the trees into the sunlight and the wind. Within a few long steps the caribou suddenly plunged to her chest in ice-crusted snow, and suddenly each bounding leap was a struggle until finally she slipped and went down to her knees, and couldn't quite struggle back upright. Corbie, who had followed easily in the caribou's wake, wasted no time. Leaping in, she closed her jaws over the caribou's throat and windpipe, those bone-crushing jaws easily crushing the cartilage there and puncturing a vein with one of her canines before she leaped away again to safety, there to wait as the caribou tried to struggle back to her feet. The fight was already over though, and finally she sank back down and was gone.

For Corbie the day was just beginning. Now came the skinning, the butchering, the preserving, putting together a sledge. Then she would return home with her bounty, ending her journey just in time for lambing.