Firefly Ravine cats, dogs, and rats

As the storm in the bay worsened, Firefly felt the need to find an escape. He wasn't typically afraid of storms (as far as he was aware) and yet, the volatile winds and pounding of the surf upon the shore, served to disrupt some part of him. He rested by the ominous sequoias on the edge of the territory, too anxious to find their shadows comforting, and by morning he was up and hobbling — meanwhile, the storm gusted.

He crossed the southern fields without a sound. Snow coated every inch of the once-green expanse and muffled his steps. He told himself he was hunting for something more substantial than fish and shells to pass the time — and get his mind off of whatever mindless stress had stricken him — but he was forced to stop when the earth, seemingly out of nowhere, gave away to nothing. 

The chasm likely led down in to a gorge of fast-flowing water even the winter could not control. He peered over the ledge but when he caught sight of something glimmering (which was just some abstract light caught upon the ravine's rapids, reflected out of the chasm) he flinched back — and when Firefly adjusted his posture and his gaze again, he was staring at a dark shape grappling with something he couldn't quite make out.

Firefly slipped along, his strides sharp and awkward at the same time. He was limping in a more pronounced manner because of all the wandering but he was curious of this being, of whatever they were doing, and did not think to stay back. As he drifted closer he saw what was going on - a wolf prying at the neck of a dead old deer. A thin breath puffed out of the man as he observed, and he slunk closer while the other wolf was distracted - hungry for his own pound of flesh.