The wolf cocked his head. Beyond the edge of the forest, a small human, little more than a child, scattered hay on the snow. Sheep gathered around it in a thick pack, never looking up from their meal, never suspecting the danger.
The wolf's stomach pinched, a pain that never left him in these hard times. The members of his pack weren't faring any better. The ribs of the weaker ones showed through fur. Everywhere in the pack, heads hung down and eyes were glassy. The cubs no longer played.
Never had it been this cold. Never had he gone this long without eating.
A lamb wondered away from the others. The wolf crouched low and crept to the edge of the forest, moving almost on his belly. Now. He exploded from the shelter of the underbrush and struck.