Wapun Meadow boy made of ash and a honey soaked dawn

it's been a minute or two since dolce had sated the old urge for violence. for a life taken in the matter of seconds. an itch he thought long gone, now rearing with malicious intent alongside his grief. he'd sworn he wouldn't resort to his old ways—least with other folk. 

he'd never sworn off coyotes, though. they are the victims of his destruction and his pain, personified with each snap of jaws. the two he'd thrown himself at yip and yowl; their movements quick and coordinated. but not quick enough. his teeth find our gaze on a flimsy tail, and he yanks. drags the coyote back into his grasp. 

teeth detach, tearing fur off that he promptly spits out before he clamps down on the animal's spine. it's cry nearly shatters his eardrums, but he does not yield. he bites down harder, feeling flesh and bone tear and break. metallic in taste, followed by the putridness of the coyote's musk. 

the spine crumbles beneath the power of his bite, but he does not kill the coyote. not yet. he lets it go with a snarl, watching as it drags it's limp legs behind it. paralyzed. it wouldn't survive for long. 

it's partner has latched itself onto his hind leg. he kicks it off, sends it skidding against dirt and grass alike. turning to face it with his wrath, seeking to take it into his jaws and annihilate.