Cricket Creek Bog and we won’t ever fight [m]

tw: cannibalism and gore
@Towhee

It’s a grotesque scene. Blood is painted across the wetlands; it’s churned with the mud, it stained the plants, it dyed the shallow pools. Chunks of flesh and fur make a path straight to the culprit.

Silly little wolf, he sang, Should’ve stood still! I’ve made a mess, and it’s all your fault! Parasite dug his paw into the laceration on it’s neck. That was the killing blow.

But don’t you worry. He leaned down and began to tear into the belly. That was his favorite part of the body. Always the warmest. I’ll clean it all up. Nothing would go to waste.

She meandered along the far edge of the copse overlooking the bog, idly surveying the borderline while her mind wandered. Towhee had seen Meerkat not so long ago, though she felt a deep and sudden itch to pay her a visit at Moonspear. The next new moon was still weeks away and she had no other purpose for going there aside from a friendly call, though what more reason did she need to visit the allies who housed her youngest child?

Her thoughts cut off abruptly when a slightly cool September breeze wove through her fur, delivering to her the stench of blood. Towhee stiffened, turning her snout into the wind, then began tracking it into the bog. When she stumbled upon the grisly scene, she didn't register what she was looking at for several seconds.

The sight of a wolf feeding on another wolf wasn't entirely taboo—meat was meat, after all—but all the blood told her this wasn't some opportunistic find. Perhaps they'd fought and the winner was enjoying his spoils? But there was something unnatural about the eater's movements that made Towhee's ears fall back in uneasy disgust.