Blackfeather Woods damn the torpedoes!

His Mother had come swiftly, removing his assailant from his body.
The boy, shaken, darted backward out of its reach, snarling softly like a hurt lion. He crouched low, close to the cache, watching the fight unfold. The raccoons were being scared away, others killed. He watched them work fluidly, scratch returned with a snapped neck. Blood hit his nose, the thick coppery tang one he'd not forget in his life.
Perhaps he'd always think to this moment when he did.

He observed now the threat was declining, watched how one could take the life of another. A hard bite, wrench of the head, and the interloper would be killed. He also noted they aimed for the necks of them. A weak point in all mammals.