Fairspell Meadow delivered into the jaws of death

Greyson had been keeping an eye out as he tucked into his meal. Every so often between mouthfuls he would lift his head and prick his ears, quickly surveying the area immediately around him for any signs of trouble. The scent of fresh blood often attracted unwanted attention; the elk herd could surround him, a larger predator could try to steal his food or scavangers could outnumber him. Already two ravens had began circling overhead, cawing to eachother as they spotted him with the newborn elk calf in the grass. 

Today it seemed that his meal had attracted the unwelcome attention of another kind—the scent of an unfamiliar wolf drifted to his nose and some while later he spotted her dark form lingering nearby. To Greyson's relief she did not approach him straight away, it seemed she was not bold enough for that. Greyson lifted his head, and flashed the female his teeth through a blood-stained muzzle. It was an obvious warning for her to keep her distance. "Back up, I'm not in the mood for sharing today." Greyson huffed, bristling his hackles before shoving his face back into the fresh carcass. If she hadn't noticed the first warning then she would surely notice the second.