Blackfeather Woods words are wind, my friend

Blood pooled down his shoulder, pain soaring through his side in an intensity he had never felt before. Still the boy was silent focused; until his brother lunged for his throat and in an instant Abraxas understood. He meant not to fight, drive away, but to kill. 

He tiwsted, ducking down his head to protect the life that hung on his throat in the form of veins of his lifeblood, and yet still his brother grasped the space between his shoulder and throat, and finally did he break his silence and roar, blood dirtying his pelt as he twisted wildly, his brother's fangs opening up gashes as he sought his brother's face, clashing jaws aiming for his molten eyes.