Blood Drive

The commotion of course drew Valentine in. He was a sucker for kerfuffles and whatever was going on up ahead sounded juicy. If there was a fight to be had he would be remiss for at the very least not spectating. As he trotted towards the corner that separated him from the noise Valentine tried to guess at what was happening. For him this was akin to shaking presents on Christmas Day. It was a fight - that much was clear to his well trained ears - but he was having trouble visualizing the combatants. And the motivators of course wouldn't be clear until he could eyeball them, but he was guessing it started with one of the classic F's: food, family or fucking.

He rounded the corner and paused to take it all in. It didn't appear to be the first or the last F as he could see neither a kill nor anything indecent, but if the sagging teats of the coyote were any indicator there was family afoot. The woman managed to grab the coyote by the throat and drag it all the way out of the den.

Intrigued by the woman's failure to immediately deliver a killing blow, Valentine cocked his head and said, "They make terrible pets, I'm afraid. And even worse food."