Ravensblood Forest My new favorite place

While anger fueled his opponent, Kierkegaard was driven forward by a completely different mentality. Madness had eaten away at pieces of his mind, and though he had not lost himself entirely, his actions were not made with the same precision and thought that they would have been. The sense of anger that drove the slate-colored wolf underneath him was not present in the ghost. He was void of most sense and while this made for a dangerous fight, would also mean he could lose a larger chunk of rationality.
 
Feeling the male twist beneath him for a moment, the brute’s gripped was attempted to tighten. From underneath him, the slate stranger threw his skull upwards into Kierkegaard’s throat and the ashen male tossed his head back and staggered a few feet away, pressing his rear to the trunk of a tree. Shaking his skull, dazed and rattled, the pallid ghost snapped his fangs together at the blue-eyed brute. Lowering his head toward the earth to keep his limbs protected, he watched the other man with madness in his fiery optics.

When the other wolf had tossed his skull into Kierke's throat, the loner had bit deep into his own tongue and blood was pooling inside of his mouth. The tang of it sent him alive and he swallowed as much as he could if only for the metallic and familiar flavor.