a baby buff-fellow

Once his jaws effectively crushed the hock of the calf, the boy knew it was game over for the calf. Mother Nature was unforgiving and the first strike she’d set against the young Bison had been getting it separated from its mother. The second would be if they were to allow the calf to run free, or rather hobble free. It wouldn’t survive the day with the injury, he imagined, not with its blood permeating the air for all to smell. It was effectively a sitting duck. The best mercy they could do for it now was to kill it cleanly.

With a shove of his father’s massive paw, the calf fell over with an agonized and panicked bleat. It tried to squirm, but the hold the Shogun had on it was ironclad. Its throat was positioned primly and Take wasted no time in opening his jaws and clamping them over the vulnerable area. Blood burst into his mouth and dribbled out the sides as he severed the carotid artery and the calf thrashed again. He gave his head a few, strong jerks to tear into the windpipe before clamping down once more. After a few moments the deed was done, having effectively suffocated their prey and allowing it to bleed out. He released his hold and stepped back, pink tongue dipping out to lick the blood from his lips, though it did little good considering his entire chest was coated and dripping in the liquid. He looked to his sire for instructions.