Sun Mote Copse Hot chicken.

In spite of the pheasant's obvious distress, Alyx didn't let go. She heeded Towma's cheering and hauled her body backward, and with a ripping sound, a splatter of blood and a flurry of pained and panicked shrieking from the bird, she tumbled back with the wing in her mouth. Maybe she should've felt bad for inflicting this on a living creature, but to a wolf, a pheasant was akin to a plate piled high with the world's tastiest french fries. And everyone knows french fries don't have feelings.

Oof! she exclaimed when her butt hit the ground, dropping the wing and lifting her head to examine the pheasant. There wasn't much fight left in it. In fact, it had a glassy and vacant quality to its eyes now and the squawking had stopped. Its dismembered side was now bathed in blood and a steady drip painted the grass beneath the pheasant crimson. Heedless of its suffering and her responsibility as predator and hunter to put it out of its misery, Alyx proudly grabbed the severed wing and presented it to Towma with a madly beating tail and dancing forepaws.