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Everything was a blur of red. The air was thick with the scent of blood, his mouth full with the taste of it, and in his ravenous rage there was nothing that could stop the beast from seeking that which he desired; nothing, he thought, until a dark shape appeared behind the combatants. The shape abruptly inserted itself in to the fray and with one well placed snap of teeth against a weak point Revui had let slacken, the boy was corralled.

Those teeth pinched in to his neck and he roared, spinning against the new force that rose against him, forgetting (temporarily) about the woman and how delicious her meat would taste; he turned, his body trying to pull free of the grip that this newcomer had on his precious neck. The weight of the blow was staggering and Revui had to brace against the earth—then strain against the presence of his attacker—lest he lose balance and go rolling back in to the pit again.

The boy was snapping his own teeth the whole while, froth at the corners of his lips. Pink spittle flying in the air between his gnashing teeth in a frenzy as he tried to bite and tear and kill whatever, whoever had stopped him in his effort to kill the woman; at this precise angle he could not see who it was save for the swarthy fur he occasionally grasped between his teeth or the strong scent of Nightwalker that overwhelmed even the scent of blood.

This was the scent of the land; the one constant between each beast who visited the pit and harassed the captives. It was the mark of this wolf that they carried, his banner they flew, his law they followed—and with a roar Revui snapped ferociously at the air, trying to grab on to some piece of this alpha. It would not come to pass, however; the hold that Vengeance had upon him was cutting off air and blood flow, so even if Revui protested enough and fought hard, he would not manage much.