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

Forelimbs planted in the dirt, Renard kept tugging, something competitive rearing back in their chest. Their grip tightened and Donovan pulled them forward – no surprise, he was bigger, after all – dragging both Renard and the deer’s body forwards before he started shaking. The wolfdog followed suit for a few moments, but they had the disadvantage of holding an entire neck which was the farthest thing from easy to break; the force was enough to set Renard’s teeth practically rattling in their mouth, they were certainly being rattled around enough, but before they could reach the point of “drop it and give up” something CRUNCHED –

For half a second, now devoid of the laser focus brought on by hunting and killing something, Renard’s thoughts went only along the lines, absurdly, of what the hell did I just break, until the other wolfdog stumbled back with the deer’s entire back leg in his teeth and shook that instead (it made Renard a little dizzy watching, by now) until it flew through the air and landed among a tuft of grass nearby.

Renard unhooked their teeth from around the deer’s shredded neck – if the animal wasn’t dead already, that had certainly done it – and laughed.

“Yes.” The toothy smile flickered back across their lips. “Though you hardly needed my help if you can hold an entire deer in place.” They licked at the blood drying on their own muzzle – more than the other wolfdog, it looked like they were in for another round of grooming but that was their own fault – and dipped their head to begin stripping the ragged flesh off the deer’s throat. Kept an ear out, just in case.

“You know,” they said, at length. “I told you a little of my home. You never did tell me of yours.” A grin. "Not from around here, either?"