The sky is cold. Bitter cold; colder than anything she can remember. Strange fur fluffs around her neck, protecting her from the sharp chill.

A howl; her ears twitch toward the sound. Her tribe is calling. No, not her tribe: her pack. Her feet feel strange as she bounds across the frozen ground -- soft pads under her toes soften her progress. She moves almost silently, the only sounds the muted ruffle of her furred legs as she runs.

Through the trees ahead there is an injured creature; she can smell its hot blood carried on the wind. All around her suddenly is her pack, their presences slipping into her awareness gently, like snow melting into the spring thaw. With unspoken grace they surround the beast, golden eyes flicking swiftly between the trees. It will not see them until it is too late. Their breaths puff out like warning clouds on the wind.

A single moment more and then it will be done. They will feast tonight, hot flesh filling their cold bellies.

A single moment of stillness. As one, they surge forward.