Hired hand

[skye]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][bg=121504] Curses flew off her tongue and sputtered in the air as fluffy, soundless, plumes of frustration after bouncing off of lifeless fur. Every muscle and sinew tensed once more, preparing for the ensuing agony, and it came like a wolf set on fire, every inch screaming all at once, and indistinguishable from the rest. A heavy breath at last emerged and paved the way for panting as her jaws disconnected themselves from their hard-earned prize. Taking a few steps back, she admired the marks in the snow that her hunt had made during it's long and arduous drag through the new-fallen snow - a full two inches in length, they stood out from the rest and proudly proclaimed her handiwork of such effort on the unwieldy and awkward beast of that size. Her rear end plopped itself in the snow, pitifully rejoicing in such idle times, happy to be still and unmoving. Her dusky bronze eyes swept back and forth across the old moose's hide, examining all of it's wounds, the contours of it's antlers, the way it's ribs protruded, and the various clumps of fur that pointed this way and that. She couldn't help but recall once more how she had stalked this old geezer for so long, staying in the shadows, and warding hunger away for days all with the though of the bounty if she should catch it. When it stumbled, she was right there at it's throat, reclaiming it's flesh back to cycle of life, bringing it home into the loving arms of mother nature who herself seemed proud of such a long-lived beast. But once more, the though of what to do with such a lucky catch in the direst of times smacked her in the face like a slimy fish. She had already eaten her fill, slept it off, and had found that no matter how hard she tried, such a small beast as her was no match for the sheer weight of the elder bull. She could stay out here in the wilderness for weeks and pray she could eat it all before she were discovered, but the liklihood of that seemed slim, especially with unpleasant wolves roaming like she had met before. At last, she broke down. If she wanted to keep her prize, it was the only option. She covered it with snow as best she could to hide it, and sniffed around, looking for something specific, something obvious. It seemed that fate had something in store for her after all. At the end of the horizon, a treestump smelled of fresh markings, a male, by the scent of it, and told the easily understood story 'keep out, private!'. She felt lucky that her catch had not been slain on these claimed lands lest she be a poacher, and had instead fallen nearby its border. Lifting her head to the sky, she quietly called out for whomever was nearby, for one to come and help. She trotted back to her suspicious awkward mount of snow slowly seeped red throughout. Sitting in front of it, she tried to keep a face as casual as possible, with ears and eyes nervously alert for any possible thieves, be it bird, fox, or wolf.