Sequoia Coast how many centuries deep is your wound?

caw has always been thoroughly unafraid of walking directly up to anyone. this is no different – the woman’s eyes settle on him, and he does not even give her presence a second glance as he goes to snuffle at her neck. does not pay the lift of her paw any attention. he is focused on his goal and, as always, avis’ warnings go unnoticed. they never mean much.
 
except this time, somehow, they do.
 
usually they let him get fairly close, at least, let him sate a bit of his curiosity. this one does not even allow that. avis launches off his back in a flutter of wings, and before caw can question it – not that he necessarily would – there is a blur of movement and then, abruptly, teeth, gleaming and white, directly in his face.
 
caw gives a startled yip, and then her teeth sink neatly into the flesh below his jaw, sending bright pain flickering along his nerves. it is not how he imagined their interaction to go but he is certainly not complaining; the ache of punctured skin flares hotter as he twists his head and snaps indignantly at her shoulder, tasting coppery blood on his tongue.
 
“collare!” he repeats. he is enjoying himself but is also mildly confused. perhaps she has misunderstood his words and that is why she is so upset? he does actually want an answer. “neck!” he snaps at the fur around her throat demonstratively, but has genuinely no clue how to get it across. “thing. not wolf! not here!”