He hadn't eaten the pup; the regret was almost as bad as the hunger pains.
He would return to the frozen creek later, and if the youth had frozen to death as he suspected, he would tear what he could from the bone. It was an easy meal, at the least, and he would not need to expend a great deal of energy to earn it. Less sustenance than a deer, more than a rabbit, less work than either. It was cold and unfeeling logic, an instinct that told him this was true. There were no other wolves; there was only meat and starvation.
He tasted the air, searching the wind for prey. Before him was the dark, cold glass of a lake-- it wasn't yet frozen, except for its edges, for the temperatures had blessedly not yet fallen so low. It was likely that any ungulates would come here to drink while the weather still allowed, and so Dapper stood in wait.
When prey proved sparse in the mythical forest, Dauntless began to follow the river further inland, unaware that she was retracing her steps. She stuck close to the winding bank, oblivious when she passed the spire where she had confronted the burly black male. In spite of her wounds, she trekked tirelessly, driven forward by a hunger that sawed at her stomach and the bitterly cold sea wind that swept at her silver, prickling spine.
She slowed, then stopped, when she came upon the shore of a large, placid lake. She was not alone. Dauntless's yellow eyes narrowed slightly when she spotted the pewter male halfway around the other side of the partially frozen watering hole. He looked worse for wear, as if the winter had mercilessly beaten on him, and perhaps it had.
Obeying a feral impulse, Dauntless began to trot around the water's edge toward him, her lips skinning back from her teeth. She wasn't even starving, yet she could not deny that he looked like an easy target. Why should she treat a fellow wolf any differently than other viable prey? She shouldn't. Soon, she was running toward him full-tilt, a guttural growl rumbling up her throat.
His world was a haze of pain and hunger; there was no thought, no reason. He was driven only by the sawing in his gut. As his thoughts drifted back to the youth, saliva began to collect in the corners of his maw, and for a brief moment he turned to go back the way he had come... The moment of lucidity that had granted the boy mercy was gone, and Dapper had returned to a feral creature ruled only by savage instinct.
The guttural sound gave her away, and the male jerked his head around to see her charging. He inhaled deeply, a spark bringing his dead eyes to life, and licked the saliva now dripping from his chops.
No, the thought came distinctly-- loud, cutting through the fog in his mind like a singing blade. No, I am not food. You are. A heartbeat later, Dapper's thoughts were lost in a desperate rage. She was healthy enough; she had no right to consider cannibalism, not like him. It overtook him, and he loosed his own guttural snarl, a noise that carried over the quiet of the chilled lake and shook birds from trees.
No, bitch. I eat you.
He began a charge of his own.
When he turned, she expected him to startle and run away. He was no more than a bag of bones, after all, and he couldn't put up a fight. Well... guess again. When his head turned and his eyes found her, they were so hungry. Despite her name (which wasn't even her real name at all), she felt a bolt of fear pass through her, though it ultimately did not stop her.
They rushed toward each other and met in the middle with an explosion of snarling, spitting and clicking fangs. There was no bluffing; they were both in it for the kill. Realizing this, Dauntless flung herself backward, out of range of his dangerously ravenous jaws, and took a few seconds to calculate her next move.
He saw the wave of fear go through her as he charged, his flared anger giving way to determination; already, he thought, victory would be his. She still had meat on her bones, though it was true that she was leaner for the winter. There would be enough of her to bring health back to his body. Right before they connecting in a clash of teeth, Dapper grinned.
He paid little heed to the marks she inflicted; they were small cuts and bruises, and it was likely that he offered the same. Dapper was only focused on the image of tearing into her soft underbelly, spilling the tender and nutrient-rich organ meats. If he took her down just so he might even have time for one last bit of pleasure.
She pulled away suddenly, as if recoiling from his innermost thoughts. As she took a few heartbeats to presumably calculate her next move, Dapper lunged with jaws spread wide, determined to latch onto any part of her that he could manage.
Although she was a fighter by nature (not that she could recall anything of her own history), alarm bells were suddenly going off her in her head. Every single one of her instincts screamed for her to run away as fast as she could. This wolf was deranged. He might even be diseased. Not only should Dauntless not engage in a fight with him, she shouldn't let him anywhere near her.
She began to turn but it was too late. His jaws caught her by her long, two-toned tail, stopping Dauntless in her tracks. She whirled around, spitting like a cat. Afraid to bite him lest she contract some sort of horrible illness, she struck out her right forelimb, intending to smash it against his snout and break his grip.
Ermagerd, I keep posting these as Aktaie.
Too late did the alarm bells ring in his quarry's head; his grin had widened as the realization appeared to wash over the dark female. It would be over soon for her, and he might have made shushing and soothing sounds to her if he weren't so intent on tearing away her flesh. He launched his attack as she turned, his jaws closing around her tail with bone-crushing force.
After all, they were wolves, meant to break the necks of buffalo and other ungulates. A tail was nothing.
Adrenaline must have pumped through her veins, for the female turned and made an odd noise at him instead of screaming in pain. If it was meant to scare him off, Dapper took no notice. Blood— her blood— was beginning to fill his mouth. He almost purred as is began to flow down his throat. As she attempted, then, to bat him away, his grey eyes moved over her face. Wickedly, he ground his teeth together, intending to inflict pain before he would eventually tear it from her body.
And then, he thought, he would start tearing away her limbs.
Her strike had the opposite of the desired effect. Grinning wickedly, the gray wolf ground his teeth, quickly snapping several of the bones in her tail. If it was a scream he wanted, it was a scream he got. A flock of crows rose restlessly from a nearby tree as it reverberated across the lake, a terrible, wrenching sound.
Speaking of wrenching, she realized her tail was a near total loss and that her only chance of escape was to yank what was left from his mouth and run for her life. With another horrible scream, Dauntless leaped away from him. She felt the flesh and muscle tear around the splintered bones. But she also felt lightness as her body abruptly divorced from her tail and she tugged free from his grasp.
Gasping for breath, Dauntless dug her heels into the ground and began to run. She glanced over her shoulder to see half her tail in his mouth and the rest a shredded, bloodied stump flapping behind her. Much more concerned about her life than her fresh amputation, she faced forward and began to pound around the lake in an effort to escape.
His teeth had severed muscle, nerve and bone— the scream that finally erupted from his prey was proof enough. Contentedly, he continued to crunch the vertebrae in his jaws, watching her face contort and the crows flow from the trees behind her. It was his turn to be surprised, however, when she took matters into her own paws and leapt away with a force that left her tail dangling in his jaws.
Left in a stupor as she gained ground on him, Dapper suddenly felt a rage build back up inside of him. Her blood was the sweetest thing he had tasted in a long time, and he wanted all of it to be his— this tail was a mere snack in comparison to the feast that she was supposed to have been.
He gave chase, her tail still in his grasp, her blood running like rivers from his mouth and down his chest. He ran, though she had a lead on him, until his last reserve of strength flagged and he could go no further.
His grey eyes watched her retreating form as he settled into a laying position, then set to breaking the remaining bones in her tail as loudly as he could muster. For good measure, he tore a strip of the thin meat that clung to the crushed bone and began to chew, willing her to feel it, willing her to know that the rest of her body would be next.
She would be his.
He was desperate and crazy, which gave him power in a sense. Yet he was not strong. He was wasting away. Even though he gave chase, he could not catch up to her. His wasted muscles simply couldn't provide the necessary energy. At some point during the chase, Dauntless sensed this. She didn't stop running, though, until she was clear on the other side of the lake.
Even from here, she heard the telltale crunch of her own bones as he promptly began consuming her severed tail. Dauntless's ears fell back and she grimaced. She didn't linger there to watch him eat the rest. She broke into a sprint, leaving behind a trail of blood as she fled the scene.