Hoshor Plains [birth] these gifts i bring

Why hello.

She, the plains female, could not be persuaded to capture him, and so he had been forced to do as he had done before and steal around them, watching and waiting for the moment, calculating his next move. The onslaught of the storm had driven him to cover, away from the flames that scorched the plains and divided the nomadic pack that roamed them, and scattered the bison they followed. In the chaos, he had lost track of her, and now hurried to pinpoint her location, for last he saw her, she was close. Too close for him to not know where she was now.

Nose to the ground, he honed in on her most recent trail, unravelling it from an utter tangle of scents. It took time, time he did not have, and by the time he drew near to her den, she was with company. The wrong company, as heralded by the shriek of pain unmistakeable in its pitch: the wolf was after the pups. The coyote pups. His pups. Her voice reached out, pleading for their life.

He was swift, a ghost on paws as he darted forward. Her den was small and the wolf's hindquarter's were all he had access to, and so he went for them. With sharp fangs bared he aimed for a hock. His teeth would bring pain, draw blood, but only droplets. They would not tear. The bite was not meant to savagely maim but to distract. He could not wait to see if her pleas were effective before he acted, or all the life he was concerned with could be lost.