Redsand Canyon down and out over the mount

rolls for rolling

In the commotion, Finley reaches for his muzzle. A flash of vulnerability burns through him-- he grunts, muffled, in instinctive protest.

He bites down harder on her leg, deriving some dark and primal satisfaction from it. The line between pastor and wolf thins out and disappears without much fanfare. Blood pools in his mouth, is smeared around his mouth as some sort of perverse makeup. 

Finley's leg jerks to the side as she prepares another attack; he realises that he must concede his position in order to squirm out of her reach. He attempts to roll away, legs tucked, disturbing the sand. Adrenaline continues its frantic tempo throughout his body.