Ravensblood Forest making splinters

Aww, that's so sad! Poor puppy.

The snow beneath Jaws had become patterned with brown splinters and chunks, and the once solid stick was frayed and broken; the coywolf felt satisfied. Chewing was one of the tangible pleasures that enriched his life when he was not struggling to make it another day. Where others may be engaged by stories or deep conversation, Jaws preferred to touch, to feel, to sense rather than think.

He would not have noticed the dog had the gray jay not chirped and fidgeted on its branch, for Jaws was downwind of it and it made not a sound, keeping its distance. The thought that the nervous gray jay might have some use briefly crossed his mind, but his attention was quick to narrow on the canine. It did not seem aggressive - in fact, even from where Jaws was, it looked downright miserable. No doubt savaged by resident wolves.

In his darkest days, starving and desperate, Jaws had caught and eaten small dogs he found on the edges of a human settlement, but it was not something he was proud of, only something he had to do. Rising from his hollow and abandoning his stick, the coywolf approached the dog, maintaining a distance of several feet in case it turned hostile. He furrowed his brows when his gaze beheld the other male's brazen injuries.

For a few moments he said nothing, his mouth drawn into a hard frown. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, solemnly. "You wait for death..." he said.