Shadewood His hair's on fire and his heart is burning

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Grievous waits, prepared to be rebuked; ready further to bide his time for a share of the meal. He had no intention of fighting for it, choosing instead to preserve his energy for true necessity, but it seemed that a fight was far from his would-be opponent's mind.

The mercenary is rather surprisingly met with an invitation instead. He is not a man of hesitation, so he stepped forward without a second thought, and closed to distance between them so that he stood at the fawn's back while his dinnermate had claim of the belly. He ignores the catch at first, sniffing over the bloody corpse so that he might get a better whiff of the stark raven that did not fear his company.

Capturing his scent and committing it to memory, he gives a satisfied snort near the guard hairs of the male's shoulder, and moves his muzzle in a swift motion meant to nip him fondly if allowed.

Thankless and virile, his ears fell protectively against his skull while he sunk starved fangs into the tender haunch of the fallen fawn, and began to feast.

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