In his burly hand, he gripped a half-cooked wild boar's leg.
Then he shoved it violently into his mouth.
He began tearing at it ferociously, his movements savage and crude, utterly devoid of grace.
As he tore madly at the meat, crimson blood dripped steadily from his wolfish fangs.
It splattered on the ground, creating startling blossoms of red.
But he seemed completely unaware.
Instead, he was lost in the unique pleasure of fresh blood and tender, raw meat mingling in his mouth.
A low, feral growl rumbled in his throat from time to time,
as if announcing to the world his satisfaction and deep indulgence in this primitive delicacy.
The remaining third of the group were ordinary humans.
Their faces were filled with relaxed, carefree smiles.
They held various game they had painstakingly hunted from the deep mountains and old forests,
and were skillfully and methodically roasting it over a fire.
Beside them was a pile of assorted spices.
