((It's fine.)) Ears perk up and noses lift as the scent of food fills the camp. Dug into a ravine, the pack living here has learned to deal with the rough terrain just outside their dens. Wolves come over to examine the kill, seeing and smelling that it is weak. "That will hardly feed any of us!" One wolf remarked.
"Yes, but at least we can eat something again." Dymeh retorted through a mouthful of leg.
The pack's Alpha, Dracov, stepped out into the pale sunlight. He licked his lips, and, without saying a word, tore off a leg and returned back to his den. Soon, other wolves began tearing off pieces, until only a few scraps were left.
"How courteous of them to leave us some," Dymeh said sarcastically. He grabbed a bit of the neck.