Mudminnow River i am an anarchist; an anti-christ; an asterisk

Paws skid against the muddy bank, jaws snap, and an abrupt squeal marks the end of his hunt. His head shakes once, violently, snapping bones and spraying blood and loose fur. Then he drops the twitching raccoon in the mud, confident that it won't be going anywhere, and turns to drink from the silty waters. He's had worse. His muzzle wrinkles at the taste nonetheless, finding it an unwelcome change from the warm raccoon blood that had coated his tongue moments ago, and he turns back to the creature with a new eagerness. He settles where he is, tearing the creature apart brutally yet carefully avoiding marring one half of it. His mother is near, and will no doubt appreciate such a gift later.