Emberwood we don't need a rat

And killing was the thing that filled his belly.

Kept him warm, kept him full, kept him alive.

He trashed with a child like ferocity. As if the coyote had suddenly become his treasured toy and a lot less like an actual living thing.

It screamed and tried to free itself, he ripped back against its own force.

The beast wouldn't go down without a fight.