Wapun Meadow that old cliché

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He watched her with rapidly fading interest, but when she awoke only to croak a command, he crept closer to her, circling her prone form with a sadistic light glowing electrically in his icewater eyes. A mocking laugh broke from him; he shook himself near her, dried gore flaking from him into the air. If she could not handle the stench of the one closest to the Gods, perhaps she did not deserve to live in a pack that was still resplendent, in his eyes, of Shearwater Bay.

Lecter was in his element; he pranced about her, rasping his hoarse chuckles and teasing her with the very odor that emanated from his fur, daring her to rise, to punish him with fang and claw, to flee. But it was more likely that the pathetic little foxwolf would only gurgle another spate of vomit onto herself and fade into another blackness.