Fishblight Mire i knew what it meant to be afraid

with the other three of the hunting party properly placed, merrick snapped wide his dripping jaws and lunged to catch the old downed beast just beneath the chin. the thrill of life beating beneath his teeth was near-erotic; he bit harder and the delicate jugular tore, spraying blood down his throat until it overflowed and poured down his chin, his chest, dripping into the stinking marsh-water below.
merrick held fast as the aged stag kicked his legs weakly in a last defiance of death, adjusting his grip until it was tighter, a vise around the throat and its draining crimson. the proud animal toppled, snorting a last breath, and the boy disentangled himself to watch the light fade like snowmelt from the large brown eyes.
panting, he looked first to nunataq, then to treason, and last to gannet, pride limning his form, gratitude showing in the glint of his eyes. look upon what he had done, what they had done. an era, ended by wolfsteeth.