Now though, he dozed, in that magical place somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. That hazy place where dreams begin but you still manage to have some control over them. Instead of lying on a cold carcass of slowly spoiling meat and torn hide, it was a pile of females beneath him, warm and breathing, their only purpose to hunt his meals and serve his every whim. He could smell the fear that rolled off their pelts, see the defeat in their eyes, and it only served to fuel his hunger. It was what he wanted, no needed... deserved...
Wings flapped overhead, the cawing of a crow dragging his eyes open, no more than half way. It was the way he always looked when he was awake, as if he were half asleep. It could make him appear harmless to the unsuspecting. A simple creature really. It was a guise that served him well.
The crow was not alone. It’s cawing drawing more companions. Beggars that they were, standing there with their heads cocked to the side, beady eyes watching the king of the carrion heap. As one dared to hop closer he growled low in warning. This was his meal. He had found it and he would not share.
A second bird moved closer, and the first dared to advance again. Growing tired of their games he rose, sending the birds off in a flurry of feathers and wind. But they didn’t go far. They never did. Merely to the branches just beyond his reach. He settled back down with a hurumph, resuming his guard on the remnants of what once had walked on four legs just like him. It was a rare find for a lone wolf, and he wasn’t about to give it up so easily.