Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

proof is in the puddin vvvvvvv

Her leg catches his own, but he stiffens it, and so it has no effect upon him. She is still moving, and he moves toward her as well; she hopes to knock the wind out of him, and as soon as he is close she reaches— xxxxxxBut she is left found wanting, as the more agile wolf attempts to skirt away. Tonravik lurches forward again, her hind swinging around so that her midsection is no longer exposed, and neither is her vulnerable rear-end. As he comes near, Tonravik turns and lowers herself only slightly to further the momentum she would gain as she thrusts her shoulderblade toward the lowered head, hoping that given his position he would not see such a thing coming. The counter would surely bruise her own shoulder, should the attack land, but it would be worth it; and should his attack hit, she would shuffle back slightly some (not invulnerable to his own momentum, even despite her size), only to again close the distance between them (not giving him an instant to breathe) to overwhelm him; her chin lowers to hover protectively over her throat as she rushes him, hoping to surprise him as she moves in so quickly, moving to check him with the shoulder that might very well be bruised on his right side, to knock him off balance with her weight. Should that succeed, she would do the same thing again; simply knocking into him roughly, repetitively, fangs now seeking purchase on whatever part of his flesh was nearest to push downward, to get him off his feet, to dominate.