Stone Circle ACT I, SCENE III

Boy.

Ikaros swiveled his ears back at such a title, irritation crawling up the edges of his malnourished face. His brows pursed, his mouth in a firm grimace. Such a word stung deep, though the young wolf would never agree.

"Don't make me, old man." A growl lay deep beneath his words, voice tightening. 

His  stance widened, and without taking eyes off of the Kvasheim wolf Ikaros sought to side-step them with a large berth, his long limbs treading softly through the grass.

If he could just get to the carcass he may be able to tear off a piece and run...