At twilight, the snow-covered woodlands were sublime. But this evening Galilee was oblivious to the subtle beauties of the world around her; she was instead focused on the task of filling her empty belly. Galilee lurked in the shadows, taking full advantage of the low light as she carefully stalked a sickly doe through the undergrowth. She was in her natural lupus form, her body crouched low against the damp chill of the frozen pine needle-covered earth. The ebony female's form held the relaxed tension of an experienced hunter, muscles loose and ready to spring. Catlike, Galilee drifted from shadow to shadow, attention locked ahead on the stumbling deer who meandered as if drunk through the forest's trees. Now and then, the doe would pause to halfheartedly nibble at a branch pushing through the snow-covered forest floor, and it was then that Galilee edged closer.
A brief pounce like the one Galilee currently planned wasn't the more common way for a lupine to hunt. Normally, a pack would collaborate to corner and bring down a kill, and indeed, most of the family hunts that the young Aika had attended throughout her growing years had been conducted in such a manner. That would be the only form of hunting she knew, had her mother not possessed the foresight to ensure her children knew how to feed themselves alone. 'Just as you may not always be there for your pack, your pack may not always be there for you,' Fiacha had said, her words gentle but her eyes grim, 'It is best if you learn to look after yourselves.' And so Galilee and her siblings learned to catch hares and pheasants and yearlings, either alone or with a solitary partner.
Although Galilee could (and often did) run her prey into the ground, tonight she sought a quick and final ending, mostly because she did not want to unwittingly chase her quarry into claimed ground. Besides, the doe was already sickly and her reaction times would be poor. If the gray-eyed female could knock the deer over it was likely that the animal would be unable to rise again. That was a big if, given the lone wolf's small stature. It would all be a matter of timing and luck she thought, as she moved from one bush to the next, all the while edging slowly closer. And closer. And closer still.