Overture Downs ✢ Tipvigut

coväh stiffens, eyes narrowing to slits as the grey woman with ember eyes approaches, slinking low, her tail churning up frost. his grip tightens on the limp calf, blood still warm between his teeth.
he does not yield.
his ears flick, the only sign of consideration before a guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest. a warning. this is mine.
the meat is fresh, the kill clean, and he will not part with it so easily. a shake of his head, slow and deliberate, sends loose strands of fur and sinew scattering into the snow. his stance is rigid, muscles tensed beneath his coat, ready to defend what he has claimed.
she is younger, but he does not underestimate her. hunger makes even the meek bold. but so does foolishness. another huff from his nose. get one yourself.

he can be persuaded smirks