Wapun Meadow running home, running home

His heart jumped in alarm, his first instinct to pull back, to assess the damage and retreat if needed. But her determination—her refusal to yield despite the clear pain—held him in place. She growled low and guttural, digging her paws into the snow and surging forward once more.
That determination ignited something in him.
Hold on, he barked, his voice rough but commanding as he tightened his grip on the buck’s throat. Blood sprayed hot and sticky against his muzzle, the metallic tang flooding his senses as he shook his head violently, his teeth cutting deeper into the creature’s windpipe. Its struggles grew weaker, its wild, panicked bleats fading into gurgled gasps.
Rala moved in beside him, her own fangs sinking into the other side of its throat, and together their combined weight dragged the animal down. The buck’s legs buckled, its body collapsing into the snow with a heavy thud. Cole didn’t let up, not until the final shuddering breath left its body, its lifeblood pooling crimson against the pristine white.