Blackfeather Woods I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

Fur and flesh filled his mouth as he’d managed to latch onto Seff’s neck, but the grip hadn’t done anything to cease the motions of the younger boy. He’d continued to lash around, and so the Inuit’s grip tightened. A coppery taste trailed down along his tongue, coating it, and he’d recognized immediately that it was blood. He did not feel bad, believing that his actions were justified. He’d held tight, even when he’d felt teeth pinch at, graze, and even pierce his chest here and there. Xan was, however, getting fed up with the child’s movements. He should have just accepted his punishment, rather than fighting back. But it was too late to turn back now, the tawny figure’s choice having since been made.

Xan sought to reposition himself over the boy’s body, his own having shifted around. He intended to situate himself over the other entirely and, if he’d succeed in doing so, the boy’s neck would be released. However, should the opportunity then present itself, he’d try to secure his jaws around his opponents muzzle.