Hoshor Plains lord hear me now, junkboats and english boys

She felt at once ragged and helpless, for her snaps gained nothing more than fur or empty air, while her kicks served only for the stranger to push her down into the earth harder. Would she die here? Was this how death came, in wariness and then the swift attack of another, the helplessness spreading until it filled her? This was the manner in which prey died, and wolves; well, she had imagined they died in some manner more dignified. 

He positioned himself atop her, limbs pressing against her throat, and as she took a ragged breath she wondered where one looked when they were about to die. And yet his fangs did not come, rather, a sensation she had not felt before, something she could not make sense of. Strained whine escaped her as she stilled fully, breaths ragged still, in response to the pressure and hurt, confusion and fear.