Firefly Glen frankie goes to hollywood

it was not uncommon for a kill to bring about the rise in scavengers. she knew this well, now. it was a fact of life that the lone wolf had to drive off competitors, sometimes from larger kills, sometimes from the smallest and most useless morsel. it should not have surprised juria to find someone stalking among the shrubbery once she'd grappled herself the vole; perhaps the only surprising part was the wolf himself. he was large, like her, but imperious. there was a malevolent gleam in his eye despite his lackluster approach, and she watched him with more care than he was likely due. he did not come too close though. he did not challenge for the tiny dead-thing on the ground. juria kept her eyes upon him anyways, even as she dipped her head and grasped the vole's skull between her teeth. she stepped carefully upon the broken back of the vermin creature, and then with a yank and a sickening pop, she pulled the head and spine free of the rest - like a crawfish. the blood smell was more intense because of this; it rose like a wave and perfumed the entirety of the glen. juria tossed the head and spine towards the beastly man - maybe to test his interest, or to make a friendly offering - and then watched him while blood cooled across her maw.