Everyone's Got a Baby Caribou.

The afternoon sun hung low in the icy sky, casting long, harsh shadows over the snow-blanketed plain. Rakia’s nostrils flared wide as she tested the frigid air for the scent of her quarry. Her icy blue eyes, keen as a hawk’s, dissected the landscape before her. The caribou herd was near. She could sense their movement, their pulsing fear even through the swirl of arctic air.

The hunting party moved smoothly through the thick frost. The sharp scent of pine mingled with the earthy musk of the herd, each breath bringing them closer to their targets. Rakia's feet tread lightly over the crisp snow, her body lithe and agile amongst the tall shadows. Underneath the protective canopy of the pine trees, she allowed herself a moment of pause in an effort to try and deciper just how many of them were travelling together. But of course, it was too difficult to differentiate. However many there were, it was sure to be a good time.

"Rakia Perreau"