Blackfeather Woods words are wind, my friend

Fangs closed around his shoulder, and at the first twinge of pain he was in motion, twisting his head around and striking fast as an adder, aiming to grab his brother's muzzle. Should he not pull away from his brother's grip, it would make his own attack all the easier, he deduced, and thus was still as he struck, though his limbs were tensed to spring away should his attack miss.