Warmth finally spread over the cream and brown male’s insides and it was accompanied by a pause in his ferocious devouring of the deer. Tychon’s pink tongue smacked over his lips, clearing them of excess blood, but leaving behind the stain that the light fur of his muzzle soaked up. The young male took a quick breath in and then huffed out in relief as his shoulders relaxed. Another day was won; 3 years of success, if one could call getting some sort of sustenance every day success - if survival was the definition of success.

In some ways, survival was easy. The rules were simple to learn and follow, but doing so wasn’t satisfying. There was a constant ache, though Tychon didn’t have a clue what caused the uncomfortable sensation. It just existed, though not physically. It was numb - pointless, actually, for it served no purpose. And therefore, he supposed, the feeling was pointless to ponder. It was the way the world was and he’d drag his paws through it until fate decided he’s better crawl into his grave. Now, it was time to plan for later. Tychon’s amber eyes, cracked with black, refocused on the doe’s haunches.

With a heavy step, Tychon’s large paw thudded against the flank of the deer and with a committed snap, his thick teeth sank into the prey’s tibia. He jerked his head away from the carcass. The sound of fleshing popping apart pleased him; it was one of the things that caused that incessant ache to fade. He regripped the leg in order to repeat the procedure, only to be stopped by the pungent… stale milk stench that filled his inhale. What was that?! Tychon let go of the deer and his head halted high on in his posture with his ears stiffy erect. His hackles began to fully flare upwards when time passed and the scent refused to fade.

Then, the thing leaped from the bushes! If the thing had been larger, Tychon would have retreated, but instead, his lip flexed for half a moment, until he recognized what the thing was. A pup. Tychon’s ears flipped backwards while his nose wrinkled. Ugh; had he smelled like that when he’d been that small? Had he ever been that small? It’s beady little eyes were unnerving and its ivory teeth disturbing to see. It was an aggressive little shit, wasn’t it?

And Tychon had been scared of it. Was he really so cowardly? The thought drove Tychon into a more sour mood than even the fact that a puppy thought him so meek as to try and steal food from him, as was made clear when the young wolf leaped onto the leg that was half torn off. Bewildered by the miniature wolf, however, Tychon did nothing until the brat lunged for his paws! Unsuspecting, he failed to dodge and the blunt puppy teeth snapped over his toes. Ouch! He lifted his paw away from the pup with a warning growl and then swatted at it, attempting to remove it from the top of his leg. He didn’t care if the pup wanted to eat; it could have the rest of the damn carcass. But that leg was his to eat later.