Stavanger Bay passion fruit

He was so close, but that voice shot through the air and through his mind, causing the grimace of his fangs to snap shut like a beartrap — collapsing on air when he'd rather they grip at flesh. Tetsubo could hardly imagine anything at all, but he could picture the scene well enough: his teeth sinking in to the skin of the prone wolf, the squeal of pain that would crescendo around him, the taste — Oi, shitbrains, back off!

It would not go his way. The creature lurched to a halt as his teeth sliced the air, his heavy coat shifting across his broad back like a mane whipped by a frenzied wind. The beast turned its attention back to that voice, subtle and seething, and then was stationary. The target slipped out from his shadow and recoiled with their own words, flailing upon the soil with their limbs splayed heavenward like some kind of insect. If only he could crush it — no, he would hold still for instruction from the first mate.
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