Fairspell Meadow Dust off your boots

I'm losing my patience with these prospects, Dovev responded as he glanced about. He looked harried with his loose tufts of fur and skinny legs. He had always been a bit possesive about food, which partially stemmed from his pure love to tear through skin. He doubt he could sate that love in his current state, and it was driving him to desperation.
He didn't know how long he could keep up his easy going attitude, which he disdained. Dovev felt as if he were a begger every time he approached a wolf in his starved state, as if he was broadcasting his message as weak imbecile. His ears flicked. No matter what he thought of himself, he couldn't keep himself on this diet for much longer.

The white male glanced after Macintosh's upturned muzzle which followed the black bird flapping underneath the trees. Often times crows and ravens were guides for food, being carrion eaters and such. But he'd notice the birds flock to him now, instead to kills, their caws sharp. They were demanding him to do his duty as a wolf and hunt. 

We're disappointing our helpers, those crows.
He started thoughtfully after the bird for a moment before turning to the stranger. The mottled brown male had mentioned his foreign status and the arctic beast cocked his head. This younger male had left his home at a bad time. Dovev could easily see Macintosh's slightly healthier state wane with the days and meet the same impending fate Dovev faced- starvation and death, splayed out on a hillside somewhere.