Otter Creek bing bang boom

He was hunger, personified.

Each step launched a wave of pain through his joints, tendons, and muscles— but the greatest pain lanced through his innards at regular intervals. The fat supply his frame had previously stored was almost spent; biology demanded that his body begin consuming his muscles, for if it consumed the remaining fat, his organs would begin to fail. He did not know this. He only knew that he was in electrifying pain.

His progress was slow. The pain and lack of energy stores required the male to stop frequently, where he would eat snow or grass, or decayed and frozen meat if he had been lucky enough to scavenge it. He could smell other wolves nearby, which meant there were caches. That was his next determination, boundaries be damned.

But before he made contact with a pack's radius, the form of another became visible. Without thought— there was no thought, only hunger— the male rushed the other, teeth flashing. It might be wolf, but it was meat.