Rare, isn't it? Yet here I am. Here I am among those that hide in the crevices and shadows of the world. Free lands and yet, just how free do they suppose they are? Still bound by pack law, simply all six rather than one: do not hunt here, do not house yourself there. It is not my concern though. I am not here to seek out any particular wolf or any wolf for that matter. I am here because I am drawn to the unknown at such a time; drawn to the idea that there is something interesting. Who can say though? I've been disappointed before.

But there is, at least, something delicious out here. As the sun creeps to its peek, I have found myself in the midst of death - fresh and fragrant. An elk, befallen by illness perhaps or from its wounds, several gashes laces across its flanks, crusted and dark with old blood. It matters not. The beast is skilled and the air awash with the scent of an uncoming rain shower; a good time if any to avoid the clutches of a foolish cat.

I take it for myself then. Slow and laborous, perhaps, but eventually its abdomen spills open. I can feel the residual warmth from within as I dig into the flesh and muscle, my jaws seeking up through its innards to the thick, solid muscle of the heart. It is an effort to break it free from its confines but eventually, I reel back with its mass in my jaws; thick, congealing blood slips down my throat and down my chest, my face and body marked with the crimson marks of my own foul blood. Angel. Laughable. Always ironic. I cannot help but suffocate a chuckle as I begin to chew into the flesh, taking to my belly as I hold it down with my paws. And so there I remain, in a pool of crimson, alone and fulfilled as I take what is owed.