Wheeling Gull Isle into the water, let it pull him under

and so it began once more. the warlord roared, a low, terrible sound as he lunged. fangs ripped across her muzzle; first blood. the warlord was heedless of this, seeking to ram into the boy like a train, though already out of breath as she tore her muzzle free, her own fangs seeking his shoulder. her exhaustion is a concern she elects to ignore; the boy is missing a leg, and she expects this to be quick and easy. 

she remains entirely oblivious to the fact, however, that she is very much trespassing on this island.