Blackfeather Woods about it

He'd hit his mark, angering the spirit. Good. He would laugh if he had the ability. He flapped wildly, trying to rise away from teeth when his foot was caught. Teeth pulled, clasping on him with a snarl that vibrated his leg. He wrenched his foot with no small ounce of pain. He shrieked, wings beating hard against the force that had now pulled free and drove him directly into a tree's skeletal arm.

He tumbled to the ground, blood falling from his ripped talon. The adrenaline was still strong in him, forcing his petrified form to beat against the ground and try to upright himself. Surely, his furious wing beats would keep the spirit at bay. Or perhaps she was brave enough to dive right on top of him. Either way, Blindside wasn't enjoying himself much anymore.
What was a conquest was now a retreat; a hasty one at that.