She did not think or speak in words, of course, but her roar was clear to her pride-sisters: "Come, before the manes steal the kill from our children's mouths." The dropping sun was still warm, and she stretched pleasurably as she hunched among the sisters gathered around the recent kill: old Yellow-Ear, and Short-Tail, she with the single heavy cub, and the twins Broad-Paw and Six-Toe. Already little more than bone and horn remained, and her stomach was pleasantly full, but she gorged until the hyena-growlers pushed them all away.

With her sisters, she loped back to the den to disgorge the fresh meat for her little ones. Watching intently, she made sure that all had eaten, then left to ease her own squalling hunger.

She paced on, languid but attentive. The meat's brief stay had sharpened her hunger's point, and it prodded her like a thorn. She lifted her chin, dipping into the stream of smells.

There was blood in the wind: thick and fresh, with the familiar smell of goat-creature. She salivated, awareness narrowing. Her world became appetite and scent. Her tail switched back and forth, like a snake lashing under her paw.

A rocky plain lay before her, the blood-smell heavy on its air and as easy to follow as the tiny stream that flowed among the stones. She hunched herself close to the ground and moved soundlessly in pursuit. Beside her, her pride-sisters moved in to share the hunt.

She heard something now, a kind of gabbling. Very close--just behind that boulder. The scent of goat blood was overpowering, but ranker than before. She knew goats smelled bad; but this was beyond anything. She remembered the sweetness of the taste, and she moved with her sisters, circling the rock in opposite directions.

There. Three little, smelly things. They did not look like the goat-creature had, but her nose told no lies. Blood-mad, she flung herself upon the nearest yelping creature and bit into its neck. Her sisters pounced on the other two.

The griping of her belly ceased. The hunt was good.