One morning 776 spotted a bison on its haunches near Soda Butte Creek, surrounded by ravens. She approached with caution—bison were dangerous, even when they were half-starved—but the animal didn’t move. It was dead, frozen in place as it dozed upright in the deep snow. The ravens had done their best, but there was little they could eat until the carcass was properly opened. 776 made a few experimental tugs at the bison’s hide, but the carcass was so stiff that she couldn’t get good purchase. In the end, she decided it wasn’t worth the effort; there was no shortage of food, after all. She left
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