Soon it was over, and Yarra took deep breaths to collect himself and regain his masculine demeanor. Now he just felt tired, the hunt and subsequent pain wearing him out. Broken ribs...oh fun, but it figured. Deer had a powerful, even deadly, kick and he knew just how damned lucky he was to get away with as few injuries as he had.
The smell of blood roused him, though, and with a pained grunt he rose to his feet and limped closer to the deer. Aside from the broken ribs, all he'd sustained were a few other bruises and scrapes from the hard landing and tumbling. He felt sore all over, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with, and his chest felt a little better; the binding made it difficult to bend, which also meant it took more effort to jar his ribs.
"I'm glad ya finished it. I would've been pissed if it got away after all that," he grumbled and settled on the ground next to its flank, well out of the way of the draining blood. Then he dug his sharp black claws into one meaty hindquarter and tore at it, more viciously than necessary--he was pissed at the bitch for kicking him!--and hot steam rose into the air. Gods, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had venison, and rabbit had gotten old. He ripped a strip of flesh clean and devoured it, face and hands bloody.
If Ra'rin had planned on cooking the meat, well...she could. But Yarra didn't feel like waiting and he much preferred his meat raw. It didn't occur to him that this habit had a tendency to weird out some folks.
