Emberwood a partial list of things currently inside you: blood, skull, ghost

The black wolf glanced up as he jogged along the creek. Two ravens circled over the timber that was butted up against the slope of a mount. He could see them through a break in his own territory's canopy. Their attentive and interested croaks lured him with the chance of a fresh carcass; a source of meat far greater than the lean hare he carried between his teeth. He thought to bury his prey as he made his way to the harbingers of death, but its meagre weight was no burden to the strength of his jaws, and the fresh piss of a coyote bade him to keep it with him.

He shouldered through tangles of young aspens and weaved around the sturdy trunks of the larger conifers, choosing the clearest paths available to him. Only to find at the end of the trail that the ravens were not circling a deer or moose, but another wolf. One that was still alive; if only just. His eyes fell with scrutiny upon the damage that had been brought against the side of her face. He glanced across the other wounds she bared as well, but it was obvious they were not what felled her.

Jagwyr let the hare drop at his feet, where it piled up with its bloodied and crushed head bent under its shoulders and its ass lifted in the air. His eyes flicked down at it, and he as he drew a comparison between the slumped female and his dead game he let out a snort.

"Get up." He commanded gruffly, as an ear twisted to the rising yip of a coyote in the distance. The same one, he figured, whose scent he crossed just prior.