STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End by Chris Wraight

like the others, I’m guessing.”
    “I dunno,” Ronon shrugged. “Colonel Sheppard’s hard to wear down. And I’d trust Teyla with my life.”
    “And the fat one? The one who eats all the time?”
    Ronon smiled under his facemask. “He’s OK,” he said. “Maybe not the toughest.”
    Orand pulled the top of his facemask down a little and peered ahead. The flat ice yawned away into the distance. Then, suddenly, there was a whistle from one of the hunters up ahead. Orand immediately pulled his facemask down again and screwed up his narrow eyes at the horizon.
    Ronon did likewise, but could see little. Nothing appeared to have changed. The weak sun was still high in the sky, the landscape bathed in its pale light. The ice shimmered coldly and the wind continued its endless bluster. Aside from some jagged cracks in the surface of the ice, there was almost no break in the flat landscape.
    “What did you see, Lapraik?” hissed Orand to one of his companions.
    “Northwest,” came a voice from up ahead. “A big herd. They’re heading west. We can catch them.”
    Orand nodded sharply. He cupped his hands to his mouth, and gave a low call through them. The hunting party immediately broke into a loping run. Ronon joined them, feeling his stiff limbs gradually respond. His blood began to pump a little more strongly. This was good. With the prospect of action, the cold was easier to bear.
    “You came looking for excitement,” said Orand, sounding much happier. “I think we’ll find it for you.”
    The team went quickly but stealthily, keeping their hunched bodies as low to the ice as possible. Ronon couldn’t match their stooping gait, but was nearly as invisible against the ice, covered as he was in the bleached furs. As they ran, the hunters slid their spears from their backs, and carried them in both hands, swaying as they went. Ronon did likewise, nearly losing the shaft in his frost-numbed hands.
    They began to pick up speed. The outlying hunters drew together, and soon the dozen young men were running in a tight pack, guided by the instincts of the one called Lapraik. The snow crunched under their fur-lined boots, flying in little spurts behind them as they closed in on the distant prey.
    Ronon still struggled with the light. It was near-blinding if he looked directly at the shimmering horizon. But as he ran, the objective began to become apparent. In the far distance, there did seem to be a break in the flawless sheets of ice. At first it looked like a rocky outcrop, a narrow fringe of dark against the glass-like terrain. But soon there was no mistaking it. There were huge objects, and they were moving. From such a range Ronon couldn’t make out much detail, but it was clear that they were big.
    He kept running, determined not to fall behind the more experienced hunters. Now that they were on the move, his longer legs gave him an advantage. The
jar’hram
felt light and supple in his hands. Just as it had done many times when hunting Wraith in far-flung worlds across the galaxy, the thrill of the chase began to take control of him. He felt his heart beating, his lungs working powerfully. The last of the chill left him and a savage heat kindled in his heart.
    The Buffalo had seen them and the nearest of them began to break into a lumbering run. They were still some distance away.
    Orand looked over at Ronon as he ran. He had a feral expression of joy in his eyes.
    “This is it, big man!” he cried, whirling the
jar’hram
loosely around him as he loped. “Are you prepared?”
    “Believe it,” growled Ronon, picking up the pace.
    The hunt had begun.
     
    Unlike Ronon, Teyla had no trouble slipping under the low doorways and between the various chambers of the settlement. The big Satedan had taken several bruises with him on the hunt. Teyla found herself wondering how he was fairing. With any luck, he was enjoying the sun on his skin. She was glad to be in the relative warmth for once, not chasing around and