Dragoncrest Cliffs "With it or on it."

Raleska is too inexperienced to be much good. Any brief advantage by surprise she had was immediately shrouded by her ineptitude, and as she rushed headlong into they fray, Raleska realized she might well have seized her own death warrant. 

Eurycrates was jostled aside; fangs and fur flew and Raleska, slow and bewildered as she watched her packmate be assuaged, was suddenly accosted as well. She pulled back as a streak approached her periphery, the jaws of the stranger clamping loose flesh along her flank. 

Never before had Raleska had fangs aimed to kill sink into her. It was an otherworldly, shockingly painful experience. She flung her head back and lunged with a snarl at the youth’s head in instinctive response. All notion of rescuing was replaced by a fierce need to survive, and Raleska whirled with teeth blazing until something mercilessly cold and cruel seized her neck. 

Pain is not a hot bolt that sears your flesh and then quickly passes through. Nor is it sheathed by the rush of adrenaline to the head. It is raw and it is consuming: Raleska screamed as she had never screamed before, her voice high and full of terror as fur and skin parted from membrane, and Blixen’s fangs sank deep as a thrusted rapier. 

Pain clouded judgment. Pain lead to panic. 

Pulled into a ferocious furor by the agony,  and the sudden realization she might see her end drawn at the fangs of an enemy, Raleska retaliated the only way she knew how. Svalinn had shown her on more than one occasion brute force could often end an uprising, and she swung herself as hard as she could into Blixen’s frame, teeth seeking shoulder - or anything really - in the attempt to break free before more wolves piled upon her. 

She can only hope, as she clawed her way with berserk abandon, that Eurycrates was faring better - and if they were lucky, that they could somehow escape.