Grouse Thicket a fresh new grave, a corpse i crave

Her intent saw fruition, her teeth ripped flesh, her tongue swam in blood. His body tumbled to the side seconds before he came at her again. Flesh and fur was spat to the ground, his blood dirty and unclean, unworthy of her stomach. Again, she met him, his teeth sinking into already tender and damaged flesh, producing another snarl while pain razed through her nerves, her remaining eye prickling with heat. Not tears, no, but more the feeling of needles agitating the socket.

This bout, the red one aimed a strike at his neck, lunging forward even with his teeth attached. Depending on his balance and weight, it might be enough to shove him back, the moment in which opportunity lay. If not, she would at least have grabbed him again, as no wolf worth their salt could miss another's body when already gripped so close.