There was a small herd of deer in the meadow. From a great distance Sulukinak spied upon them, standing in the grass without obfuscating herself. The thinnest gray light of dawn lingered overhead, and a light snow fell which salted her across the shoulders. As she lurked there, she thought she could discern a trio of adults (or nearly-adults) and perhaps one fawn, but she could not be certain without getting closer.

Would it be worth it? She weighed the possibility of lost time and energy versus the payout; that Tugix might need fresh red meat, clean blood in his belly, was obvious. The prospect that Sulukinak could simply go on with her life and her solitary survival, which was leagues easier than minding the injured man, was a temptation that she considered fully. Once the man was healthy again she would have another body to help with larger hunts—but it was getting there that would be the trial.

Huffing softly—her breath a plume of white—she slunk among the trees and continued to survey the little herd, not entirely convinced one way or the other.