Thunder Dome full circle

He had no tactic against this cat; for one, there was no fairness in a conflict between wolf and mountain lion, and for two, the white wolf was not a fighter the first time they met and that had not changed. His muscles and fangs were fueled by emotion more than strategy, an indomitable desperation, because he knew that this cat was death, and that it was by some fluke that he had survived their first encounter. If the cat did not die this time, then he would, and surely after that Saena, her pups, or his packmembers would follow. He was as sure of this as he was sure the sun would rise tomorrow.

So with hatred roiling in his blood he leaped side ways in an effort to keep his feet this time. The cats claws raked him and scored him deeply, but there was no pause in his attack to consider these wounds, or even feel them. His teeth snapped again at the cat's cheek, ear, snout, whatever tender area he might manage to reach as the two bodies moved, for he had not the power nor the weaponry to inflict great damage anywhere else and the beast was not yet wearied enough, nor positioned right, that he might find the windpipe or jugular.