Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

She could feel the contact. It was minimal, but that would prevent her own bruising. His momentum enabled him to move away; she had been thoughtless, allowing his escape in the heat of the moment instead of acting the tactician as she ought to have. Still, as he moved past, her closing fangs did briefly brush and scrape the furs of his loin. That was minor. There was no grip, no anything; and as she turned to keep his rear-end in sight, he moved for her again. As his fangs sought purchase on her croup, his fangs instead landed upon her point of rump due to her shifting. His grip was a superficial one at best, but she did not think that way, disappointed that he had landed a hit at all.

She has been curling her spine, and so they are in a near-perfect circle as she attempts to get her own rear away from him as she moves to attempt to crash into his rear to knock him off balance whilst simultaneously swiping at a leg at his (left) hock and attempting to keep her own rump away from the vicinity of his snapping fangs, hoping to gain the advantage by way of attacking from behind. From the front, he seemed able enough to handle her. He had been taught well. She had no doubt that he was truly Tartok, but the test continued.