Into the Camp

My neck was straining from having to carry the pheasant as well as a large turkey like bird. But it was all worth it when two little grey and white fluff balls came hurdling out of the dens and bowled me over, eagerly searching my fur for the smell of fresh kill. "Moss! Moss! You bwought back fooood!" howled Wynter. Her stormy grey brother Shayde gave me an imploring look with his big brown eyes, and I gave in, letting him half drag half carry the pheasant to his mother himself. "My! Did you catch that yourself!" cried one of the older pack members, Lark. He burried his muzzle in his paws and he looked as if his ears got so hot they'd melt the snow.

I grinned knowing how much that would mean to him, and turned to see how Wynter was fairing. She bound over leaving a wake of white flying behind her clumsy paws. "Moss pleeeeeeaaaaase teach me how to hunt! I want to be just like you!" she beamed. "Alright, copy me." I dropped into a low crouch, and she followed. "Now," I said in a hushed voice, "Make sure you're down wind, and move forward as silently as you can." I slid my paws across the ice and snow, and angled my ears to listen. Sure enough Wynter was creeping up quietly behind me. I turned my head to whisper, "Now, look there." She peered around my shoulders. "My brother?" Surely enough Shayde was carefully plucking feathers off another piece of prey, probably for lining his sleeping place. I gave her the signal, and she gathered up her muscles and sprung. "Aeek!" Yelped Shayde as Wynter landed squarely on his shoulders, sending feathers flying into the snowdrifts. "Wynter! You need to help me gather these!" I snickered watching Shayde's scowl fade into a lopsided grin as they batted the feathers around and rolled into a mock fight.