these hands made of splinters

Her grip on his windpipe did not deter him in the slightest. She was pleased by his unwillingness to give up or in and not at all surprised when his own muzzle twisted around to grab for her own. But it was the kicks that came to land first; the sting from his calloused feet smarting along her muzzle as she let go of her hold on him. A hind leg swooped in then, distracting her before the grip of his jaws around her throat closed in. Echelon thrashed then, caught in a place that she did not fathom enjoyable at all with the way he had her. Blindly she struck out, trying to return the kicks he had delivered to her.