Icy toes and Ice Floes

The first 200 feet of his frightened flight were bright amber from dehydration, and in his haste and senselessness, he took no precautions to hide his tracks. There were no thoughts in his head but the need to escape, as bright and vivid as if his paws were in a fire and every instinct, intense with pain, screamed at him to get away.

When he had gotten far enough, he stumbled and half retched, the hard activity of his weakened state upsetting the new meal. He made no move to get up, and where he bowed, he shook with the efforts of upturning his stomach contents. The work was laborious and full of bile, and when he was done, he panted, feeling hot and over-exerted, trembling as his blood sugar and adrenaline began to plummet. There was a young spruce tree near him, and he allowed his weight to tip onto it.

When he had rested enough and the shaking and pulsing of his head had ceased, he knelt his head to gobble back up his meal. There was no sense wasting half-digested food, he would need every ounce of it, as in this tired state, he could very well die from starvation, being too weak to hunt again.

Stomach full again, but queasy, he took off in an easy trot to the south, hoping to find someplace warmer. But he knew that he would need fresh water first, so he kept his eyes and nose keen for moisture.