Dawnlark Plains θ

the beast stumbles under his weight, brought low by fang and fury. then skorpa follows, swift and merciless, a second axe in rhythm.
they strike together. jaws find the throat, shoulder, rib. the creature thrashes once, twice—then no more. the killing blow is not his or skorpa’s. it is both. a shared claim carved in flesh.
blood sprays, hot against the cold, painting their hides in red sacrament. a hunt finished. it is like he may say something—but nothing comes. without ceremony, he lowers his head. teeth sink into the flank, tearing muscle from bone. he eats in silence.