Firefly Glen in my veins like fire

raedwulf watches the single she-wolf's assault on the bull of this herd. there is a grunt of amusement at her boldness—but he too hungers. if she fails, the bull gets away and they both go hungry.
he goes down the slope in a crouch, flanking wide, ears pinned and eyes sharp. not for her—for the bull. it’s too big for one wolf, even if he's young. he knows that. she should too. maybe she gets the idea when the stag breaks free and whirls on her.
he grunts as he passes behind her, not slowing. instead of speaking, he nips at her—to warn her back. but it is not aggressive, like he might seek to steal her kill. it is a warning.
no bond, no trust, just instinct. wolves don’t leave a half-done kill.
he snaps at the bull’s flank, driving it into her path. hooves fly. a strike could break bone, but he’s already veering, already bracing for blood.