Stone Circle Restless feet

He trudged lowly through the woods. The hunting fields were barren. A disturbing truth to the irreparable grief deciding to stick around in the air. Wouldn't pass. Lingered around over head.
He grew sick of it.

So, day by day, it happened.
He rid himself of it.
He made the skin bleed of countless does; of countless deer, hare and vole. Fox.
If it lived, he tried to take the life from it that let it.
Of anything.
But already, he was battered from his previous encounter.

The neck of the man snapped. His muzzle wrinkled, curled, his tail lashing like a wildcats and his fur prickly and poisonous. His voice lost the viciousness it once had. Instead, it was grossly nearly calm.

Vale.

Following the same tracks.
"Back off. You'll scare them, and I don't need you getting in my way."