Forward-dated to 22nd of June.
The rain pattered down as the thunder rolled only from his chest, a warning met by the yapping of the three coyotes. Craw had found the day-old caribou carcass first, most of its flesh already gone, but the order of events didn't matter. If he had come across the three of them already feasting, the decision would have been the same.
He hated coyotes.
One of them jumped forward with an antagonistic yelp, slender jaws snapping on air, skittering backwards just as quickly as Craw met the aggression with a lunge of his own. He could tell they were hungry, much hungrier than himself, who had no real need for the scavenger's opportunity... save that he would let the meat benefit his own before he would feed his damn rivals. Another of the chattering vermin danced a little too close and he bristled and snapped at it, but there were three of them and only one of him, and every time they drew him towards one of them another had the opportunity to sneak closer to the caribou.
At this point, it was just a matter of principle. It would have been easier to just let them have it, because there was no way they'd let him eat in peace, and they were proving to be a little too fast to be grabbed. If one of them made a mistake and let themselves be snared, then he'd only have two to deal with, but they were being too cautious. They probably had young to feed. The thought fueled his murderlust.
It was going to come down to - was Craw more stubborn than they were desperate?