Bison Brisket [Hunt Circle Bison Hunt]

He padded slowly after the herd of bison, eyes scanning the shaggy brown mass of animals, seeking out any likely hunt targets. Today, he was going to call a pack hunt for the first time. Valhalla’s numbers had grown since the last time they’d taken a bison, and he was quite eager to bring a second down to really kick off spring. Maybe they could find a couple moose as well.

He tested the herd a few times, never pressing hard enough to send the animals stampeding, but enough to see who was less likely to stand and fight, and who was healthy enough to turn on himself and the hunters. It took an hour, the sun rising gradually from the nest it had been settled in, casting a clean, warm spring glow over the plains, riming the bison’s shag-necks in gold.

Finally, he had a target—a heavy cow who had a visibly broken foreleg. He had no idea what she’d managed to do to break it, but it would be her undoing. She was visibly close to calving, and for a second, he wondered if they should attempt at containing the cow and make a start on a “domesticated” bison herd.

He shook his head. It would be better to put this animal down and stock the meat supply and hides. Her death would bring sustenance to the pack, and they could always try that domestication route on a healthier bison cow. Maybe catch a few weanling calves.

He crossed over her wake, taking a deep sniff of her trace and memorizing it before he retreated well off, howling for the Hunt Circle. It was his turn to lead a bison hunt. He just hoped his fellow hunters would come.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think