Lone Star Mountain graustufen

the wolf stepped to his side, and mahler knew he beheld no common creature. dewclaw to the proud line of his muzzle, this was a warrior, some feral thing not removed from his innate savagery. he matched mahler's own height, and the gargoyle was strangely proud to stand along the man who bled from the night and commanded respect while granting his own.
another series of blows, and the ram routed from the fight staggered toward them, perhaps nursing the pain of a crushed shoulder where its opponent's curled horns had struck true. mahler tensed — the silent language of the other male bespoke willingness to cooperate, and despite his own doubt, as he had never hunted the mountain creatures before, the beast moved off to the right, intending to catch the agonized quarry in a pincer if luck favoured he and his hunting companion tonight.