The Heartwood Running down the halls

While his injured packmate tried (and failed) to help him, Revui was busy with the true danger: the Blackfeather wolf had quite the grip on him, and the longer he struggled against it the more prominent the pain became. Blood soaked in to his fur the more he moved; his drumming heart like the beating of a war drum, and soon the blood streaked through the snow. But he did not relent. Revui was larger and he knew how to use his size to his advantage. Even if he couldn't cause her harm because of her position he could force her to release him — and so he crowded up against her, teeth snapping and body contorting until he was (more or less) looming over her and pressing her in to the soil.

This sent an animal thrill through him -- something distinctly different from the aggression that plagued every inch of his body, a heat that he felt pulsing in his belly (and a little lower); lust was a foreign concept to the Ostrega but he was nearing the age where it would rear its ugly head. For now he assumed the flush of warmth was merely from the fight, and ignored it.

He finally had the upper hand — she was squarely pressed beneath him and he could easily begin to tear away at her flesh if he so wished, but pride rose in him as he concluded that he had won the moment — and Revui glowered down at her with a bloodied grin, as if to invite her feeble attempts to counter his nearness. She could try to run, but he would chase her; she could fight back, but it was unlikely she could get a good strike upon him since he didn't leave any room for movement. He had won, and he knew it.