[color=#ffe100][i]Butchering is hard work, definitely best left to the professionals,[/i][/color] Astor thought to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow as he finished cleaning his blades. [color=#ffe100][i]Though no butcher would touch one of these things with their blades, if they could help it.[/i][/color]

It had been tough, but the man had managed to get some usable cuts of meat from the wolves, though it was far less smooth than an elk or a boar might've been. Hell, even pigeons and hares were easier to prepare. The canines were extremely lean, and the only significant cuts came from the shoulders and ribs. Each wolf gave maybe enough to fill four or five bellies (for the amount of work Astor was willing to put into getting to the meat). The rest would make for valuable compost - eventually going to fertilize some farmer's field.

He'd tasked his mother with setting up his marinade about an hour beforehand, when she'd come out to check on him. A mixture of salt, pepper, herbs, and two different whiskies. It needed to be quite potent to (hopefully) deal with the grease and the smell of the meat.

Once he'd cut the smallish slabs of meat into smaller medallions, he placed them into the marinade, told his mother (who was currently working the bar) not to touch it until he reported back, and headed out again - this time bound for the home of the settlement's resident doctor, Michelle.

After a brief walk, during which time he would nod familiarly to his passing neighbors, Astor found himself at Michelle's door. Quickly brushing his hair back over his head, Astor knocked on the door and waited, stepping back down off the step and patiently looking around.