Dawnlark Plains caught in your riptide

the deer scatters like leaves in a storm. and she is upon him in an instant.
she strikes the smaller wolf like a hammer to stone, her muscled shoulders crashing against his chest with the weight of a bull. 
he hits the ground and she presses him flat to the earth with a heavy paw. the ridges of his windpipe flex beneath.
she pressed, hard enough to stutter his words, but not enough to strangle. at least not fully.
"that kill—" pallid gaze watches him, "was going to feed our new mothers." 
there was no anger there, rather the steady weight of a hunter’s logic. 
the women would be fine, but the doe would have kept them fat for a few days. strong enough to make milk for the babes.