Bearclaw Valley [mature: guts & gore] multitudinem miserationum tuarum

Her soft, triangular ears turned towards the noise. Her head, framed by a mane of brown-black fur, lifted away from its admiring of the work to face a newcomer.

A wolf. Yes, one of their own. Bernadette had noticed a trend among Ursus, which she herself and this one too were not exempt from. Blacks and browns dominated the coats of the believers - the bear's mark upon them, she was certain.

"I am no bear, Skeptic." The dog said, her voice deep and masculine, and as she trudged over to the carcass kept talking. "But I believe we were all touched by it. Perhaps, such is the fate of us, bear-bound since the minute of birth." She paused over the corpse. "Or, perhaps, the womb." 

She stuck her nose into the meat again.