Blackfoot Forest cried his wife impatiently.

The were apart for only a moment before Kierkegaard felt his shoulder connect with the other wolf. The pack creature was sturdy enough to hold his ground, but Kierke had not anticipated he would be able to fully unload this wolf on the earth in a pile of fur and snapping fangs. Instead, his fiery gold gaze looked to the opposing male and saw the man lung for his neck. The throat was a sacred area for the ragged ghost. He had always been quick to guard it, and the soft flesh of his underbelly. The white wolf seemed adamant about keeping Kierkegaard away from his catch. In times of famine, the ashen loner would have been able to understand this. But all reason had been lost on him. It was only fury and the innate will to survive that allowed him to twist his mouth upward to meet the other wolf's snapping teeth with his own. It was a kiss of ivory. 

Aaron's fangs sunk into the top of his muzzle and the more he fought to keep the creature away from his throat, the more he felt his mouth take the brunt of the force. Ears pinned to his skull, the Sairensu male lowered his torso toward the earth and in a wild attempt, darted upward with a gaping mouth, teeth hoping to latch right to the underside of the white wolf's neck.