Honeyed Pasture night of the hunter

Little to Donovan’s knowledge, the coyotes he’d been stalking for about half an hour now have another predator eyeing them down. The male is confident in his strides and he finally decides to go in for the kill. Stalking out from a small copse of trees and shrubbery. He resembles a lion more than a wolf or dog at this point. Walking languidly from his cover, head level with his strong back only slightly crouched from his original massive height with his golden orbs fixated on the pack of coyotes before him. His tail is high and curled inward to rest on his hips as he allows his heavy paws to urge him ever closer.

The coyotes aren’t stupid enough to not see him coming and they still, large ears pointed forward like saucers and hazel eyes fixated back on Donovan. He’s a comfortable forty feet away from them and they’re peering back to him cautiously. Then in a split second everything changes and Donovan begins running to them. His muscles shift impressively beneath his extraordinary brindle coat and he urges himself faster and faster to catch up with the scattering group of animals.

One of the bunch unfortunately meets his timely end as it trips and rolls through the tall grass coating it’s agouti pelt with dirt and dead grass alike. In no time Donovan is on it, galloping up to it and pouncing on top with all of his massive weight. The animal releases a high pitched whine more akin to a scream if anything and instantly shows its belly in a useless attempt at submitting to the wolf-dog, surely hoping to be spared. Where Donovan is sure no thing would happen he stands above the creature and the coy lies under him thin front and hind legs press up against his barreled chest attempting its best to keep the larger male at bay. Donovan cranes his head down, a toothy smirk on his maw and he shoots forward with savage intent to grab ahold of its neck. He shakes his head and his body ripples with the movement as he slings the coyotes body back and forth, easily killing it. 

He drops the body after a few more malicious shakes and his black tongue lols out of his mouth to pant, drool dripping from the sides of his mouth in stringy droplets. Sparking canary orbs go to eye down the coys family running off into the tall grass and he contemplates going after the rest of them. He’s not above killing for sport to pass the time. 

For now he catches his breath, standing there confidently and tall. He looks positively stunning in the low light of the evening, large muscles on display, he looks like an absolute fucking unit.