Redsand Canyon days of creation

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Again, he finds himself with hair prickling the back of his mouth, his teeth catching on someone else's skin. Hhah, Colin in a voiceless roar looking down to his nose like he's looking at a gun barrel, feeling all the muscle and bone just a few centimetres under the surface. 

When Finley suddenly blows up in his field of vision (how could someone so far away in one second be so close the next?) it isn't to hurtle past him as Renard did. Her teeth slip and slide then snag at his ribs. Without much fat to cushion the impact, it is unbearable, and he stifles a scream.

He lets go of the wolfdog and twists, almost shaking with rage, looking at the world through a thick haze of adrenaline and something so close to vertigo, dizzying— but his gaze feels pinpoint, a macro lens that picks up all the pores on Finley's dark nose, a camera held by a young grip on an astronomical sugar high— and just like that their positions are switched, and just like that Colin is twisting to snap at her face.