a baby buff-fellow

His father was quick to fall in with his plan, of which he had no doubt he would. The man was nothing but sharp, his cold silver gaze all knowing and all seeing. It could cut anyone right down the bone and leave them a shaking, terrified mess, naked in their own minds. He both admired it and hated it.

The calf bleated in panic as they both thundered across the prairie, breaking into a run in order to try and escape them. It was smaller than a full grown bison, obviously, and therefore much more nimble, and as they got closer it began to zigzag and make unexpected turns in order to try and throw them off. He gave a growl of frustration before putting on a sudden burst of speed with a grunt, his muscles aching with exertion that he did his best to ignore. He couldn’t show this weakness in front of his father. The calf made another sharp turn, but to its misfortune it went in the wrong direction and directly across his path. Take lunged forward and sunk his teeth into its hock, feeling the tendons crunch beneath his strong jaws.