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Yaalk'ali laid in the sun, fat and happy. Hunts from last night had not gone wasted by the fox, who ate all his fill now after the carcass had been otherwise dismissed. Certainly later to be skinned and cured but for now, laid out to bake in the sun. Ribs curled up toward the sun which beat down onto the open tundra now. Where ice still clung, it glistened in the light, shining like crystals. Yaal's red coat soaked up that red sun too, happy in the rise of the caribou hunter's success. The band had chosen their place well - nay! The caribou had chosen well. Far from filth of plague. Far from any with an ounce of strength to oppose them. Ice Raven smiled upon them.