Sawtooth Spire sit out there in the coven

@Atuaserk

Jammed within mouth were ten corpses, each folded unto themselves and threatening to choke the jaws that carried them briskly to the communal dens. Each little vole had been decapitated, their souls buried beneath rocky snow drifts that crested the highest peak of the Sawtooth territory. Fleshy little appendages jut out betwixt teeth, the little grouping of rodents a sad mishmash of fur, blood, and spit. It would not seem like much, to most, yet for the spider it was a very successful afternoon. Hunting alone became easier with strength and sustenance, it seemed. 

Incapable of calling out, for fear of losing the obscene amount of voles within grasp, and unwilling to asphyxiate should one fall, the Delta simply stood a moment to contemplate options. Finding little, one large paw swept a small stone towards the Tonravik brood's hideaway, hoping the commotion would lure a little puffball out.