Great Bear Wilderness pale touch

Head on, the doe almost seemed bug-eyed about her situation. They had her cornered in a sense, caught in an endless circle that almost seemed more feline than canine. She couldn’t go forward though she tried, just as she tried to pace back away from them. Her steps were uneven, limping, and her cries went unheeded by any stag that could have come in to try and save the day. Not even her own kin would seek her out now; they knew those calls however distantly carried on the wind. They were the calls of the soon departing, and there was naught they could do.

His patience wore thin here. He tired of waiting for her to simply give in when she seemed adamant in standing upright still, too tenacious to simply accept the fact that her end was exceptionally close. They could snap at her and hold her in a small range all they wanted, but he could smell her blood in the air and still tasted the faintest tinge of delicate flesh. Dirge lunged for her at last, grasping tightly the skin between neck and shoulder to pull her downward. He could hold her long enough now that she lacked the strength to fight him off fully, and this would be her undoing at the jaws of his companion.