Larksong Grotto Some Things Are Worth Fighting For

Charley chuckled, loosing a flurry of bubbles from his muzzle as he drank, but still the beast drank. Yes, if only the lake could be equal to meat. Then he could feed his goddess, the pup of the grotto, his pack, himself. He could stop feeling guilty, stop worrying.
As the smaller male beside him questioned his pain, finally, the Pryor lifted his dripping ebony maw from the lake. A deep gash flowered across his cheekbone, but other than some other little nips here and there, he was fine. 
           "Just this one on my face, really. Surprised there isn't more."
Bitterness rang through his growled words, but also sadness. He'd CAUGHT that calf, so why the hell had they abandoned it to those damn Dragons?