Sawtooth Spire Mollusus

I sort of took control of one of the coyotes. I hope that's OK! :)

His jaws closed on nothing but empty air as the coyote disappeared into the scrum. With no time to dwell on his failure, Wicked spun to survey the scene, trying to pinpoint where he might be most useful next. It was absolute chaos, wolves clashing with their smaller cousins all around him. His ears flattened at the noise as his eyes pinned on one of the coyotes still near the mouth of the den. As little as the yearling cared for the pups personally (he had never met them, nor their mother), it was his instinct to protect them above all else. He wanted to barricade the Alphas' lair and beat away any enemies that came close.

Wicked never made it there, however. Something smashed against him quite forcefully, causing him to lose his balance and fall roughly onto his side. The impact knocked the wind out of him but he did his best to ignore the pinch in his chest as he struggled back onto his feet. Quick as he moved, a lean, wily coyote moved quicker. It pounced on him, fangs sinking deep into the side of his neck. It clung to him even as the pale Epsilon rose onto all fours. The weight dragged his head downward.

The smell of his own blood filled Wicked's nose. Fearing for his life, he began to panic and beat his nearer foreleg at the coyote. It had no choice but to unlatch and he quickly fell on it, forcing it to the ground. His own blood splattered the back of its head and neck as his jaws wrapped around its throat from behind. He meant to crush it with his teeth, though as he applied pressure to deliver the killing bite, he swooned and toppled sideways off his quarry.

The brawl continued around him. Someone even stumbled across his outstretched legs, though Wicked had no idea if it was an enemy or one of his own kind. His awareness was fading fast as his lifeblood drained from the fatal wound on his neck, pooling and spreading around his head like a macabre red halo.