Barrow Fields and drawing lines around my body to recall my place

Renard kept their jaws open, aimed for a leg, but before they could get close enough to even consider biting down the animal had changed from wide-eyed shock to a flat-out run, hooves kicking up loose dirt and debris in their wake, silhouette just visible outlined against the dimming sky. They kept running, sprinting over the short-cropped grass, lips peeled back, and from what little brush there was left to the fields Donovan emerged like a striking snake, a flash of golden eyes and white teeth.

The doe wheeled around faster than Renard would have thought possible, a sharp turn that had the brindle man’s teeth clicking shut on empty air behind it. It bolted away from Donovan, taking that one precious second to do so, and Renard was still moving, paws skimming the dirt as they built to top speed –

and as he took off in pursuit as well Renard gained, closer and closer until they had drawn nearly level with its shoulder. Their muscles burned already with the fury of the pace, but that hardly mattered now, and behind them Donovan was running, paws thudding against the ground, and when Renard finally turned, angled their muzzle towards its neck with mouth agape and teeth bared –

It came to a dead stop just moments before Renard’s teeth caught its throat, and the change in momentum sent them swinging in a wild arc up before its front legs, their teeth caught so tightly around its throat that when they were jerked to a stop it was to fur and skin and sinew mostly given way. Blood poured out over Renard’s muzzle, hot and wet and metallic as they hung there, and the deer’s frantic struggles quickly began to weaken.