Totoka River breath of harsh air

Tweed had finished roughly eighty percent of his hard-earned meal when the fiery wolf leapt at him. He grasped onto his precious food, a growl vibrating in his throat as his hackles rose and his eyes narrowed on the perpetrator. Perhaps others were able to willingly give up their meals, but Tweed was not inclined to do so. This was his food, and he did not want anybody else to have it. If there was any generosity left in his soul, it was buried deeper than the hunger that had scratched at his belly for the past several weeks.

He had whipped himself around so that he now faced away from her, attempting to choke down the last twenty percent of his kill before she managed to get to it. He didn't take time to note things like the scar on her face, the lack of meat on her bones, or any of the other finer details of her appearance. He only knew one thing: this was his rabbit, and she wouldn't be getting a single bite.