The Heartwood Running down the halls

He didn't know he'd made a mistake. This was his first brawl with someone outside of the spars of his childhood, and the taste of the blood in his mouth was something he savored. It was like he was tearing the wolverine to pieces again; the doe was screaming in the back of his mind for a reprieve as he turned upon its fawn; he saw the golden coat of Llewellyn twisted and bloody on the ground. So many experiences that characterized his frenzy in the present. Except — then he heard the pleading voice, that pathetic bleating, saw the face of someone familiar on the other side of his teeth — 

— the raspberry girl —

No, no, this wasn't right.

He tore his teeth from her flesh without thinking, taking a nice chunk of her with him, and didn't have time to react as the other wolf (the real danger) dove in to assault his face. Revui snarled and flashed his teeth at this new threat — pivoting and butting with his thick skull, thrusting himself towards Flicker while blood and spit drooled from his exposed teeth.

He roared again as he charged like a nordic warrior of old — slamming chest-first in to Flicker and snapping at her with a renewed vigor, ignorant of his own wounds (or furious enough to be numb to their effect for the time being). He was a beast, a leviathan brimming with rage and purpose, and he was going to destroy her.