Overture Downs the man who stays at the cemetery pointed the way

Atomsk stood bloody at the crest of a low hill. The drizzle had washed away much of the heavier sloughs from his opponent's shrieking demise, but a cut on the side of his own muzzle bled freely, and he lapped at it thoughtlessly as he peered around himself for any other instigators. The victim had been a bobcat, which now lay rent with innards exposed at his feet, but it wasn't much of anything now -- a ghost, maybe, that was sorry to have tried defending her cubs against the encroach of a better predator.

He hadn't known at all, when approaching the lone tree, that he was coming across the site where a mother cat was teaching her cubs to stalk. Those feline children were long gone now -- he couldn't tell which way they had went -- but they were only an afterthought to him; just a sad casualty of the wilds now. Surely they would be picked off by something or other before they'd reach the more assuring years of adulthood. He looked down at the deceased, both hating the taste of something else that fed on flesh and unwilling to let the meat go to complete waste.

As he pondered eating this thing, he continued to rasp his tongue absently over the gash at the corner of his mouth and shake what clinging rainwater had come to settle on his thick coat.

@Grezig