The carcass didn't smell strongly of death, at least not now. It was cold and smelled of snow - but a muddied snow, a bit impure. While the older wolf advanced upon the carcass with the full intent of rending a nice hunk of meat from the bones, he paused long enough to bellow his name - Amon.
- prior to diving face-first in to his lunch.
Amon bit in to the exposed leg bone and gnawed on that for a bit, just to get himself warmed up. Then he moved closer to the frozen shoulder and began gripping, pulling, twisting, and generally rending the chilled meat off in chunks. He managed to gulp down a few bits and pieces of hard flesh, some with layers of frozen skin and fuzz on them. Then, the mother-load: a deeper segment of meat was pried free, and Amon wrenched it off with the power in his hunched shoulders. The muscle tissue hung from his mouth, which was spread in a wide grin.
Whll? C'mun thn, git some.
He chortled through this teeth, which were firmly sunken in to the chunk he had wrestled free.