i ate his liver

They tangled, each fighting for whatever it was they believed in—for Ptarmigan, it was natural order. He who slay a king becomes a king. Cara could have been subscribing to any number of other beliefs, and the Endore could known none of them. To know that the Moretti was fighting for the honour of the wolf Ptarmigan had drowned would have been enough to make her giggle, though she was ordinarily not a cruel sort of wolf.

Both bitches tried hard to take down the other. While Ptarmigan's attacks were largely battering rather than cutting, she was unable to avoid raking her teeth across the other female's snout at some point, though she managed to avoid drawing much blood. Cara fought much more viciously, slicing into Ptarmigan's flesh every chance she got and sending the Endore's body screaming for relief.

Yet in the end, the yearling fell, and the Endore slowly sank to her haunches. Exhaustion was creeping over her, and the veil of violence falling away. Her wounds slowly oozed blood into her dark coat, and would need to be cleaned. She glanced to Andrus and Viggo, then at the defending party, and the corners of her lips curled into a smirk.

As though to rub in this victory over the Spine's chosen champion, Ptarmigan lifted her head and cried into the air, declaring her sovereignty over this land and its inhabitants. When Cara muttered a request, the bleeding female turned her burning eyes upon the unseated queen and said, “go.” There was no use in killing her. Ptarmigan was not that shameful.

She turned to Viggo and Andrus then, silently requesting their aid in finding somewhere away from their three interceptors to rest and clean her wounds.