Bramblepoint bury my body down by the highwayside

He'd gotten accustomed to roaming the lowlands; they were part of the claim as far as he knew, or at least Hydra's ego considered the hillside as such. The forest was his most frequent haunt. The snow had come, flurrying from on high and covering everything with a blanket of white—or in some cases, thick ice that gripped at the tree branches. Tye wasn't suited for this weather and yet here he was crawling through it, feeling numb except when his skin burned with an unholy heat.

The sound of a scuffle nearby caught in his too-big ears, and he stalked after it. It was hard to be stealthy in a place of such blankness, at least for him. He was this skittering oil-stain against a fuzzy white-noise backdrop; but the forest's shadows helped him to stay somewhat hidden. As he came creeping along to where the stranger was poised over a stick, tugging and thrashing at it, Tye was perplexed; why would anyone waste so much energy on something like that?

He angled himself differently, crept closer, saw that it wasn't a stick but a leg—and felt the burn in the pit of his concave belly. His sides heaved with a deep breath, his ribs quite clear beneath a thin dark skin. He wanted that leg for himself—so he did not waste time and plunged snout-first after it, kicking up a flurry of snow and crunching softly against the dirt near the other wolf, his yellowed teeth bared as he snapped at the stranger's face.