Bramblepoint I think you pissed off my sandwich.

Attracted by the echoing clamor of prey in distress, Kavos made his own path straight for the ruckus; plowing straight through what he could, and catching many burrs and thorns in his sleek white pelt as he went. He didn't notice either that something sharp had embedded itself into his foot, and sprung a slow leak from the tender skin between his pawpads. Always nicking himself on something or other, he almost constantly had the scent of his own blood caught up his nose, so he ignored it now, as he had learned to over the months.

The scene he came across gave him pause as he tried to discern all of that he was seeing. Two bucks, with antlers locked, had collapsed in a struggle that had seemed to have been going on for ages now— judging by their lathery exhaustion. He didn't yet notice the other wolf, because his molten eyes had become entranced by the sight of helplessly exposed necks. The jugulars beckoned him, sending him streaking into a sea of flailing, batting limbs in feral readiness to take on the two-headed, eight-legged quarry.

Nearly full-size, he had the potential to do a lot of damage; but inexperience plagued him, causing him to be beaten back with almost comical ease. He was fortunate enough to avoid any serious blows— even though he wouldn't have felt them anyway— but having been shoved like a ragdoll, he hesitated to dive in again as the headlocked bucks struggled with the renewed vigor of blind fear in their chests. Prowling around them with feline casualty, he hunted for another opening, having squandered his first chance at a clean strike. If Kavos was lucky, they'd break their necks in the panic.