Fairspell Meadow and i run from wolves.

The air was thick with blood, and although Cypress had never seen or even heard of such a creature, his bloodlust was a shark’s bloodlust. Heavy, scythelike claws found purchase in the flesh at the juncture of humerus and scapula where his fur was slightly thinner and he threw up his head in shock and pain before plunging his muzzle deep into the fray to make a grab at the fleshy hollow of the wolverine’s collarbone. He couldn’t hold it, though — not unless he wanted his eyes gouged out. The next time the quickhatch swiped, though, he lashed out, snakebite-swift. Between his jaws he gripped the enraged beast’s left forelimb, and he grit his teeth with a vengeance, sulphureous eyes sliding to meet Alya’s — and other Alya’s — blu —

— wait a minute, Alya?!

“Rr-yrrr!”

The name was shocked out of him, but he didn’t know where to look and nobody had any leaves because everybody had a mouthful of really disgusting whatever-it-was. He knew, though, that one of the two black-furred, blue-eyed wolves was Alya — Liffey and the third Alya were out of his immediate line of sight — and he wanted to impress her with his prowess. It helped that the wolverine was trying desperately to get free using any means possible, and his sharp fangs were tattooing Cypress’ wild-furred nape. He pinned his ears to keep them from being lacerated or torn clean off, using Alya One and Alya Two’s cues as much as his own to know when to yank — and managed just barely to avoid being bitten at the corner of his jaw. He was forced to twist his head at an uncomfortable angle to keep the column of his throat protected but his efforts paid off when a sickening snap! and the creature’s scream of agony reached his ears.