Lion Head Mesa postscript: it was a terrible animal always feeding itself

all he needed was for her to make one mistake, to fumble, to doubt herself -- and he would be upon her. they tumbled down the blue shale, snow scattering as they struggled -- and then, she was on the ground and his aim was true.

she had been floored like a lamb and offered very little in struggle -- all that fluttered in her ribcage was the stirring of painful breath. he stepped over her, a content and ugly smile spread across his wickedly thin features. 

wordlessly the male slid atop her, attempting to latch his teeth firmly around the back of her neck and force her head downward; the thick of his neck tense with exertion. should she offer little in feedback, he would then press himself against her spine -- testing the reception of his advances with slow, forceful bumps.