Bearclaw Valley they think of her as heartless, but she wasn't heartless

There was nothing more refreshing than a hunt. The adrenaline which spiked so swiftly within the bosom, cratered a hole which only running and catching quarry could fill. Nothing sated a wolf more, nor less, as that was their destiny. To catch, 
and to kill.

"Piveji xok." 

Behind him, the Angel scampered through the dewy foliage, her own brush that of scalding glory to miserable eyes. He was testy; they had feasted on nothing but words, and his palate hungered for something much more delectable than such. 
Words were a waste unless they granted anything.

"Coming! Comingcomingcoming"

She was his hold back. His anchor, and it was his own insatiable will to survive which prevented him from wasting the time to cut her off. Or that's what the yearling would continue to tell himself until he could officially rid himself of her. Sheened onyx lids lowered over blazing orbs and he continued his lope without stopping for her. If she was left back, the that was her own doing. 

Something was amist.

It took nothing but a fraction of a second to freeze his gait, whiskers forced to hold their own posture as his nare skated the passing winds. Blood was upon it,
and from it, a kill had either been made, or could be.

"Hey, Siq, you smell-"

"Vosti.Xok."

With her, it was always with the talking. 
Stating the obvious, as if she couldn't see him frozen in place, slim muzzle pointed direct against the wash of breeze, stiff and alert. He would eat her if he had enough mind to. 

She got the message, auds flattening against the round of her crown, banner of sunspirit sweeping between pressed hips. She sneezed a gentle apology and curved her route away from his space. For this once, he got peace. 
And with it, he was rewarded another scent other than hers. Away from the flowery graze of the hippie's child, he caught the scant pleasure of another wolf. Actually, a multitude of their kind had come and gone within these trees and brackets, but one was nearer than the rest. With it was paired the wine of crisp blood, copper and salt dwindling through the strands of crisp breath of the morn. 

 

"Come," He rewarded her with natural speaking, dark tail flicking to portray an interest though it was gilded impatience. "Food." It was aided with the alert teen licking his chops, cleaning the whiskers of the air's linty debris and filthy leftovers. Gleaming with a highlighted maw, it was clear his goal. Ahead a mile or so. But asarsu tave gatesijea lerea,he warned himself.
And a wary one, he was.

Forward they persisted, four pairs of pads keeping nimble equally despite their body size difference. She was quicker than he, but the Angel knew he knew the way. Respectfully she prevented herself from dashing herself before him and risking another reprimand. Through brush and brambles they traveled, and ever closer they ran to the scent of either murder or the process of such. Garnet topaz scanned through the sights before them, the long woods extending high and above them with silent ease. The morning teased with other perfumes it held, but he was focused. 
Siqsa was voracious, actually.
And he wanted to partake in whatever carnage was happening.