As Wretch worked the main group forward, Vulpine kept her attention on the buck, dancing between him and his fellows. Each time he protested, bugling his call of warning and distress, she responded with a snarl of her own. Injured he might be, but he was a prize all the same; those weren't twig antlers he was swinging her way, and she felt no desire to be skewered.
No, she'd much rather do the skewering herself!
Standing her ground, she could feel as well as hear the elk herd moving further away. They might be trying to stay together, but from the sound of things they'd given up on their fellow.
Such is the way of things with herds, Vulpine thought grimly. There can be no time for weaklings.
Fatal Irony
No worries; I know muses can be pretty fickle! My own are a great indicator...sorry about that.