Swiftcurrent Creek des knaben wunderhorn

it had taken mahler an inordinate amount of time, its length something he could not admit without shame, to find and dispatch the beaver that hung bodily from his jaws. its blood trail stippled the ground between his forepaws; the gargoyle set down the carcass to lap crimson from where its limp throat lay open. 
the brute hefted it once more, extending his stride to carry himself into the sun-stippled recesses of the forest. it was to the cache closest wylla's den that mahler was heading; he would not engage her again, but felt she would not reject the offer of fat-rich meat. and when he had lain it by for storage, the wolf came away with part of its flat tail in his jaws: a possession for das entlein. 
he did not stray to her densite now; mahler strode resolutely through the woodland with gentle chewing audible, hoping to soften the tough flesh of the beavertail into something easier on jaws far smaller than his own.