Emberwood we just disagree

Weather: 16°F, Foggy.

The sun was just beginning to emerge when Dune awoke to find himself with a light blanket of snow covering him. It must have snowed throughout the night. There was something oddly comforting about this particular forest, though Dune couldn't quite put is finger on it. (Do wolves have fingers?) He had slept quite well, although his stomach growled. Once again, he was hungry. This was no surprise to him, seeing as he had lived off scavenged goods for the past month or two.

Rustling in a nearby had awoken him, he realized, and soon he was investigating with urgency. Visibility was low, but his nose worked fine enough to tell him that there were traces of blood leading up to the rustling bush.

Fuck it was cold.

Honestly, she wasn't sure why she had come crawling back here again.  Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was masochism, but for some reason, here she was.  She'd spent a good many months attempting to track down @Vlad, hoping somehow she'd run across a trace of her friend, but he'd disappeared into the ether.  She missed him.  "Standerdz" had stupidly taken advantage of him while he'd been there, and now that he was gone, there were few in this world she could call friend.  

She avoided the coast, a move that hurt her deep but she knew was the smartest course.  She didn't know if the ugly witch and her brood still ran those shores, and if they did, going alone would be suicide for sure.  Instead she was north, in the damn cold, wandering around with little direction and even less motivation.

And hungry, too.

She had heard the rustling as well, and happening across it, wasn't about to let this morsel go.  However, something shifted, and from the corner of her eye a white shape flitted.  Shit.

Nope, this was hers.  Sprinting forward, she went at a mad dash towards whatever was in the bush, hoping to snag it and get the hell outta there.  If it was edible.  If it was dangerous, well... she'd had a good run?

Before he had gotten a chance to investigate further, a black shape whizzed past him, and from the bush erupted nothing other than a coyote. It was badly injured, blood covering its left hind leg, but it wasn't completely immobile by any means. Dune hesitated no more, knowing that he was more likely to eat the injured coyote than the wolf. He rushed to the black wolf's aid, jaws clamping around the coyote's tail and giving it a good, clean tug in his direction.

As you might expect, the coyote was none-too-pleased with this sort of development, and it yowled uncontrollably in pain. The smaller predator coiled itself around and Dune felt teeth against his muzzle. He felt hot blood trickle down the side of his face, and he released the coyote's tail, bracing himself for whatever came next and hoping that his dark-furred brethren was going to help him kill this scavenger.

Abort, abort!!

Instinctively Rosalyn skidded, awkwardly scrabbling to the right as a decidedly wolf-ish shape exploded from the brush.  A second later it registered: coyote.  And wounded at that.

The other wolf sprang in immediately and earned a scrape for his efforts.  Normally coyotes weren't on Rosalyn's preferred menu, but today she was far too hungry to be picky.  Winter alone was hard on even those used to hunting solo, and she had never been the best at hunting prey.  Mostly luck and scavenging had gotten her this far.

Alright, standards, here we go, she thought wryly, slipping in to latch her jaws on the coyote's leg.  It twisted, delivering a kick to her that met glancingly, but she twisted with, attempting to pull the creature to the ground.  Hopefully it would compromise it enough for them to finish this.

Dune took the opportunity when the dark stranger pulled the coyote off of him, and he latched onto the injured creature's throat with a mighty, forceful grip. His jaws clamped down hard, cutting off the coyote's air supply, puncturing the skin, and Dune felt the taste of blood flood his senses as the last of the canine's life dwindled away. As it stopped scrambling, Dune felt the rush of adrenaline slowly start to leave his own body. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes gazed toward the dark stranger who had helped him become the victor in this little grapple. Then again, she had also been stupid enough to instigate it.

Considering how hungry he was, he really didn't want to share. So he was going to do everything within his power to make sure all this meat was his, and his alone. He pulled the coyote's carcass toward him, a low growl starting in his throat. He had every intention of leaving the stranger out of this meal.

She held the creature tight, her side aching where a kick or two had landed, but not terribly so.  The coyote was desperate, but weaker than the wolves who sought to end it, and the other stranger was able to quickly finish this fight.  Only to, seemingly, instigate another.

She was hungry, but also, miffed that he would take her idea and make it his own.  She was stealing first, damnit, and wasn't about to let him run off with her hard won (well, almost won) loot.  He could find his own prize to steal from another idiot.  This one was hers.

She matched his growl with one of her own and gripped the leg tighter, feeling the bone firm between her teeth.  She let her golden eyes bore into his, sending a clear message; just try me.

She tugged back, which wasn't surprising in the least. Dune had known he was going to have to fight for his kill the second she showed up. His growl grew louder, his hackles raised, and Dune's icy blue eyes glared right back at her. If she wanted this food, she was going to have to fight him for it and win.

Dune once again pulled at the coyote's flesh, this time giving it a good, hard jerk toward him and away from the black stranger. His lips curled in a nasty snarl, even though it stung the cut that the coyote had given him minutes earlier. His front feet dug into the ground as he pulled, then he tugged right to left in an attempt to throw her off balance and loosen her grip on the creature.

((Rolled in slack, a 3.  If it was above 5, the leg woulda come off.  As is....))

He didn't give, so she pulled harder, trying to tear it from his jaws.  However, his hold was far more stable in the neck; her decision to interfere and assist with the leg was her downfall.  As she pulled, the bone cracked, and abruptly she lost her grip.

A split second decision... She sprang at him.  She was smaller, and honestly could not afford injury.  But she couldn't let him leave without at least trying.  She went for his own leg now, aiming to clamp down and force him to drop the food to stop her.

Discord roll! 1d10 above 5 means Roz's attack hits = (7) = 7

He hadn't wanted a fight, per say, but he had wanted the coyote to himself. It was not that he was against sharing, but she had stupidly caused him to fight a coyote when he could have laid low and waited for it to die, rather than risking his life (and potentially saving hers) in the process. Instead of being thankful for his ~heroic deeds~, the stupid wench had decided to fight him for it. He had not wanted to harm her, but when her teeth met his leg, all bets were off.

Dune half-yelped, half-growled, half-snarled when her teeth made contact with his leg, and he dropped the coyote for a chance to clamp down on her scruff. He had no intention of harming her, but he would make his point clear. And if she continued to fight him, she would only have herself to blame for her injuries.

((Also rolling! Hit 5 or lower :D - 3 ))

oh shit, it worked.  He dropped his prize, out of pain or irritation, she didn't care.  All that mattered was it was no longer grasped in his jaws, which left her free to dive in for the snatch!

only, unfortunately for her, just as her jaws closed around the dead creature's foreleg, his snatched onto her scruff, and she was left with the rather unpleasant sensation of his teeth far too close to her neck for comfort.  She let out a sharp, involuntary whine of surprise, but (perhaps stupidly) did not yet drop her catch.  It was past the point of turning back now; he had her, and all she could do was try to wriggle free, claws scrabbling in the dirt for purchase.

Lol @ this stalemate. 1d10 above 5 means Roz takes off with the coyote = (5) = 5.

She continued to resist, pulling against him and causing him to clamp down harder on her scruff. Any blood he drew from her would be no fault of his own (in his eyes, anyway). He could not understand why she would not give up, and he was running out of options. If she did not let go of his kill, he would be forced to take greater, more serious actions. That was, as far as he was concerned, her choice.

((Rolled, 1d10, above 5 meant she pulled free haha. Feel free to have him try to keep her if he wants though! - 6))

She wasn't going to win this.  It was starting to occur to her, and despite her desperation, the need to keep her hide in some semblance of one piece meant fight was quickly shifting to flight.

Dune clamped down harder, and she was beginning to feel winded.  With a final expletive "shit!" she dropped the coyote and wrenched sideways,  pulling free in an attempt to take off.  It hurt like hell, but was outta here.

She dropped the coyote, and Dune loosened his grip, and in an instant, she was off. He was heaving, as the struggle had been on both sides, but Dune had remained victorious in the end. His tongue lolled as he panted heavily, but he was quick to drag the coyote closer to him and feast upon its carcass. The food would fuel him for at least a few days, and the warm, rich meat was like sunshine on a rainy day to his empty stomach. He gnawed and chewed and swallow and smacked until there was little left of the cousin canine. The rest would be left for the crows.