The Heartwood I came to stake my claim like a canine waitin' in a buffet line

Damn, that stung. Quell's tongue swept out to lick at the tender, torn tissue, drawing back into her mouth with the coppery flavor of her own fresh blood. She paused to rinse and repeat a few times, jerking when Kyr cried, "Yikes! Get the bastard!" Her pale purple eyes focused on the sight of the raccoon chasing her companion. It was so ridiculous that a laugh bubbled in the yearling's chest.

But this time, Q dropped her playful pretense and aimed to inflict some serious damage. Ignoring the blood still flowing from her nose, she galloped after the feisty little beast, aiming for the sweet spot at the base of his neck, just above his little shoulder blades. In his furious haste as he gave chase to Kyr, the raccoon jerked at a critical moment, putting his head square between the wolf's jaws.

Although startled by this serendipitous turn of events—particularly when his skull knocked harshly against the points of her teeth—Quell quickly seized the opportunity and applied pressure. She knew she wasn't going to be able to crack his skull, so once she acquired enough purchase, she began to rapidly wring her neck in the hopes of wringing his too, hopefully to the point of snapping it.