Dawnlark Plains natural selection

Fucking bitch.

Sitiyok nibbled a bit too roughly at his hindquarters, pinching the skin beneath, and drawing an irate growl from his lungs. The gray female from the Grotto was still on his mind. Despite the rather dull end to their encounter he couldn't let it go. He felt slighted─as if she'd cocked her head back and spat the biggest boogie imaginable right on the bridge of his nose, then went and told him to eat shit. The Issumatar would have taken her head, the boorish man groused. Her head, her lands, and her wolves. His teeth suddenly hit a tangle (caused by a brier or some such) and, without hesitation, he bit down and ripped the whole thing out. A stab of pain raced up his leg, leaving a raw spot on his skin where fur once belonged. 

He spat it out and whirled his head forward, throwing up his ears to regard the landscape with a sour expression. A few birds wheeled by, corkscrewing over one another in a show of effortless acrobatics and a few trilling notes.

Sitiyok rolled to a standing position and shook out his pelt. Almost immediately he caught wind of another wolf, and his back prickled as his hackles rose and fell like waves. He pivots and starts off in the direction of the scent trail with marked intent. His expression fades, once again, into practiced neutrality as he spots the figure moving among the grasslands a few dozen yards off.