Seaside Moors ii: the fang gang

The body twitches where it lays. A squeal permeates through the air and as it dissipates the sea lion's head is swept in to a void, and then there is the slightest movement in the dark. The bone gives way beneath a clawed fist, merciless, and there is quiet.
The flies are buzzing around the still-warm meat, spiraling manically as a bloodied palm is lifted free of the mess. As the bear begins to lick herself clean, her tongue works its way across the rough flesh of her digits, between each claw, indulgent.
Next she descends upon the lion's remains in the manner of a pig truffling the soil; she clamps ahold with her teeth, drawing the body further from the beach while the pulverized head sits separate from the rest. Whether the bear notices the lurking wolf or not is unresolved—she appears to be very invested in stripping the fatty meat from the carcass and nothing more.