Silvertip Mountain i was the match and you were the rock

She licked her lips and paced as Ciervo did the honours. The goat was still alive when he began the process of tearing its limb from the socket, but a combination of heavy bleeding and shock soon put the animal down completely. She couldn't help but to whine softly in anticipation as she padded back and forth, restless from the scent of blood and the promise of meat.

"Some here would be good," she said, slavering as though it wasn't even really a choice. She wasn't stuffed to the brim with meat, so she simply couldn't ignore the temptation of a fresh kill. The blood would be congealed and jelly-like by the time she got part of it back to the Plateau from here. It was like eating days old McDonald's fries: not enough to make you sick, but certainly unpleasant.

When she finally was permitted to take her place at the kill, Saena dug in eagerly, ignoring the blood she smeared across her face and chest. Her tail swayed as she fed, and then like Ciervo she went straight for one of the goat's legs. It took her a little longer to get it off, and then she hoisted it awkwardly and let it fall nearby. She might have taken her leave—scavengers could have what the wolves couldn't carry—but she was struck with inspiration.

"You know," she said, securing the limb from falling down the mountain with a sturdy forepaw, "if you aren't going anywhere and don't have plans, Blacktail Deer Plateau could always use an able hunter. You'd get the perks of being part of a real family-like environment, and being well fed, of course." Perhaps Ciervo would simply dismiss this offer, but perhaps he would consider it, maybe even take her up on it, and he'd be welcome to. As crass as he'd began, Saena didn't mind him, and he'd helped her with a task that was surely impossible for her alone.