Elsea strides deep within the wooded land that she is not accustomed to. Her vulnerability is enough to make her uneasy at every creak and snap around her. She lopes quietly about taking her strides carefully and flicking her ears forward and back. Her nose is at full attention; she sniffs quietly. There is nothing but her and the snow here. Few flakes make it past the tree’s canopy and a crow calls in the distance. It is evident that he is calling his brethren for a quick meal, but she is not sure. There is no sign of blood nor any sign of life in these woods. The sleek white and grey and cream female slithers her way through the trees silently, almost unheard. That is when she sees it. There is blood against the white contrasting ground; it is fresh and boding and unforgiving. Her stomach churns with disgust, fear, sadness, and most importantly hunger. She cannot hold back the very instinct she has tried to fight her entire life. Though her past was of life and light, she no longer lives in harmony with the earth. For her to live, she must kill.

It is a small price to pay for her own life. The animal must not die in vain or in waste or in sport…not while she was around.

Her milky eyes peer into the distance where a figure leans over a mound in the snow. There is no sign of struggle, no sign of life other than the wolf. But that is when she smells him. Elsea lets out a short and soft greeting whine. It is her brother. The brother she had so tried to mold into what she wanted. No matter how hard she had tried, he would never change. His voice is gruff against the cold winter wind and it is almost equally as cold to her.

The pure girl lifts her head and strides to Jarat but stops short as her eyes gaze upon the small caribou he had slain. She recoils and shakes her head, but the instinct is too hard to ignore. “This animal has given his life as an oblation. Who am I to refuse?” The girl takes a small step forward. Her head bows as she gives thank for the life Jarat has taken as he always has. Once her prayers are finished she gently rips the nourishing flesh from its hind leg. “Tell me, Jarat, why have you killed enough for a small pack? There are plenty of rabbits, squirrels even, that would have been enough to cure our hunger for the time being.” Her voice is unforgiving and cold and her heart is heavy with nothing but remorse for the mother that has lost her child.

Elsea recoils from the caribou, steps across the way, and comes to Jarat’s side to rub against him. Though he was a disgrace to their name, he kept her fed and alive and for that she was thankful.

“I do commend you for cleaning the carcass rather well. We both know blood and fur do not mix well.”