Mercury in gatorade

The rust and chocolate woman had been keeping her distance from her cousin for a number of days. Not necessarily deliberately, but this time of year was always harder on her. Her flank gave a phantom ripple of the kick that had sent her life into a different orbit to those of her other travelling companions, and her muzzle crinkled around the late season caribou calf that she dragged by its throat between awkwardly splayed legs. The tang of iron was tempting on her tongue, but this was a prize for someone else.

She dropped the offering momentarily, standing over it protectively and shooting the cawing birds that followed her a narrow eyed stare of warning. Her nostrils flared as her head turned this way and that. The priestess wouldn’t be far. It was almost time to perform another prayer. Perhaps closer to the tree-line was a better place to look?

She lifted her prize again, spindly back legs jerking with each rock they hit. It was even fresh enough that rigor hadn’t set in yet. Her cousin had better appreciate just what she was giving up.

“Speech”