Two Rivers Isle he jests at scars that never felt a wound

He offered her a brief sidelong glance as she joined him at the warm carcass, grunting in acknowledgement of their shared success. Then he ate. He did not hasten but neither did he savor. The black wolf devoured with efficiency, until his stomach was distended with organs and meat from the backstraps and shoulder, and the white of his chin was stained red. His toes, too, were colored with blood.

Stepping aside, he scrubbed the side of his broad snout against his foreleg. Then his tongue swiped around his jowls as he lifted his head and glanced around them. The doe had gone from sight, and the meadow was quiet except for the hum of the breeze and the chirp of a small birds as they flitted among the grasses and carried twigs to their nests.

Jagwyr approached the fawn once more, plying the power of his jaws against a center rib until he broke it off. Skin and meat came with it, tattered and hanging. He lied down with it a few paces away, working his teeth against the young bone in recreation, to the pleasing sound of crunching and cracking.

He let his gaze fall unabashedly on his companion as he chewed.