Big sopping wet cat

Winter was a good time to catch up on travel. There were still many things to do, but it was one of the least busy seasons for a farm, and everything could either be easily covered by just one or two packmates, or put off until she returned. She had a lot of goods to be traded away from the year's work, so she had made a bundle of woven blankets, soft tanned furs, mead, cider, and smoked lamb to carry along with her as she went, to trade it where she could. Well, the lamb was mostly for her, so she didn't have to hunt as much along the way. She liked to be prepared.

What she was not prepared for was coming around a curve in the path to find herself face to face with a huge, dead, wet lion.

Even less prepared to find that it was actually breathing, not dead at all.

She froze in place a moment, eyes fixed on the dangerous creature sprawled across the way. With the travois behind her, she couldn't possibly back up - the dragging poles were not exactly made for that. Nor did it seem like a wise proposition to move forward past the lion without knowing if it was conscious or not. So she waited with one paw still raised mid step, watching the big cat to see if it stirred.