Redhawk Caldera Don't tell me I'm fine

Both coyote and wolf smashed into the ground. The coyote's breath was cut off in a broken yip while Nightjar's rushed out of his lungs in a whoosh of air. Both of them lay still for a moment, but it was Nightjar that roused first; after all, he hadn't collapsed with the weight of a very large pup on his back. The coyote couldn't say the same, and now it was in mortal peril. It knew it, too; as soon as it could regain any of its strength, it began to kick and thrash, but Wildfire was already neutralizing it.

Nightjar almost—almost!—snarled and turned on his sister, so great was his worry that she would take his glory from him (since when had he cared about that, he might ask himself later, and he would realize it was his competitive nature more than anything), but she backed away in time for him to not feel the need. She took with her the coyote's ability to walk, with her dark snout dripping in its blood. The scent of blood was all he needed.

Nightjar threw himself over the flailing coyote and found its throat, and wasted no time in biting down so hard that its neck cracked under the pressure of his powerful jaws.