Sawtooth Spire Mollusus

DED. And, closer! Will archive this up in 3-4 days :) RIP Wicked!

 

Tonravik listened. 

Soon, there was total quiet. A lot of blood... she smelled it. And then, a howl from her mate. Tonravik could hear in it the sound of loss, and her jaw clenched. One of theirs had been taken out in this process. Who? She would find out soon, she knew, but it did not matter. Whoever it was had been a piece of them, and the loss of one, no matter who, was the loss of too many. 

So she tipped her head upward and howled, too, from the den, overwhelmed inside. Her cubs were still behaved and still and she shuffled toward the mouth of the den and did not leave, but howled from within. She blamed none for this. They were too green to the land to expect anything and to have left any and all rocks unturned from the vigilant, wily coyotes... and though they were one member shorter now, they were wiser, too. These coyotes had undertaken a task too great for them, something they had not known from the get go in living here for so long. They wrongly assumed the advantage, and all had died for it. 

Which meant the death of Wicked was not for naught. 

Tonravik lingered near the mouth of the whelping den to pull in any carcasses brought to the doorstep, but truthfully did not expect much. No, she would rather they feed on the remains of their painful victory, supping on the skin, blood, and bones of the beings that had brought an end to one of their brethren.