Moonspear I told my wrath, my wrath did end

Though tall for his age and toting feet large enough to imply he was a well endowed man, at the end of the day Kavos was still just a boy— no older than nine in human years— and despite his bridging sense of independence, his true age would come to full light when presented with an unfamiliar force. This fact, his age, was perhaps the only thing that might keep him alive in this instance.

He was brave at first, turning as the sound of a charge withdrew him from focusing on the monotonous plod of his own steps. His lips peeled back, revealing a bright shock of fresh gums and uneven teeth; some that yet looked too large for his mouth, and a few— the last of his baby teeth— that looked to be too small. The noise he returned was high and strangled, tapering into a sharp cry of alarm as his legs suddenly buckled and his body made to roll onto its back.

He resisted the urge to submit... but he was weak. Weaker than he could ever feel. Kavos' want was to retaliate, to defend himself, but his body was smarter than his desire to rebel, and the most primal need for self-preservation as well as a wolf's urge for social contact, had him unwittingly seeking to appease her. The boy growled uncertainly as he rocked on his side, unable to decide if he should be on his feet, or giving her his belly. He was caught between the motions, his tail tucked over his sweet spots, and his wide eyes eager to see how violently she'd close the last few bounds between them.