Dragoncrest Cliffs "With it or on it."

Like flies to a rotting carcass, they come. One, two, three. . .and more linger nearby. Oh, this is -- this is heaven. The pain spurs him on, the scent of blood ambrosial. He fights without a care, sinking his teeth into each and every bit of flesh he can find.

That is, until he catches blurred sight of Raleska, leaping into the fray.

No. . .putting her in danger had not been his intention. And while he's proud, immensely proud, of her bravery, she doesn't stand a chance. 

Eurycrates pauses in his assault to launch his weight into hers, hopefully knocking her aside and out of harm's way. He casts the most fleeting of glances at her before turning to his enemies, bristling like a porcupine. 

You will NOT harm her! he bellows, his voice thundering through the redwoods. Take me to your captive.

Then he sees the insolent boy from the sound, and rushes toward him, ready and more than willing to take his scrawny neck between his jaws. If anything else, the last thing he enjoys will be the taste of coywolf marrow in his mouth.