Barrow Fields Dear hero imprisoned

if there was surprise within mahler that the other man should so welcome his blows, it was not evinced in the grim lines of his scowling countenance. his snap closed on empty air; the darker beast ducked and snapped for his forelegs. gritting his teeth, the musiker felt agony well above his instep, but kept his silence. anger that blood should be drawn from his flesh first sundered whatever control mahler felt he must maintain.
head dipped as it was, his opponent had presented the base of his skull and the dip of his ears to the aspiring sea-wolf's jaws. and down mahler sent his questing fangs, cutting them deeply into the back of the other's neck, through the bristling sable hackles.