Blackfoot Forest and dawn comes

Meleys reveled in the kill. Her excitement shown in the lolling of her tongue, the pep in her step, the gleam in her expression. Hunting one of her own kind meant no matter for her. In fact, she was certain she would come to enjoy killing this wolf more then she would the caribou. She loved the caribou: respected them, praised them, walked as one of them. They were her life essence. Hell, it was like the Lanzadoii to choose to march with the herd even if it meant abandoning their own pups and Meleys had - many times. This man? She would enjoy inflicting a savage death. 

When their target is in their sights, Meleys follows the path of Blackfell, swift and determined. Two large wolves cast in shadow decend upon the other wolf. One holding fast to his scuff and Meleys at his back end, her front legs straddling his hips as jaw as set upon his backside to hold him there. With each struggle, each jerk, she would bite and shake, tearing into him bit by bit. 

She hungered for his flesh, impatiently awaited his death and a growl slips past a mouth filled with him as the pair argued and squabbled, as though to find a just purpose in all of this. Fuck their family drama. Fuck their home land politics and fuck their gods. They were Saatsine now and this was the vengeance of Lanzadoii!