Bearclaw Valley iron defenses

tvar drops his kill, breath steaming as he watches ameline make quick work of her own. his tail flicks once.
she glances at ameline, wiping blood from his muzzle with a shake of his head. he doesn't seem particularly happy about the whole affair—but who was? it was grim, necessary work. at the end of the day, these coyotes weren't much different from them.
they had their own lives. their own families. and tvar has to swallow bile and blood as he turns to look down at the crumpled body at his paws.
to distract: good work, regina. and he does not wait for a response before leaning head down to begin the work. ears pinning back against his head in his best attempt to ignore the sound of flesh squelching within his own mouth.