Kintla Flatlands But Death Had Caught You in a Bad Mood

Teeth met flesh and fur, the skin thin and easily broken, and Daighre smiled as he felt the meat of their cheek split open beneath his bite, hearing—more than feeling—the sound of his jaws coming together after a clean cut.
 
His victory was short lived.
 
The other wolf found his footing and lunged in return, slamming him bodily into the shadows of the ledge overheard, one shoulder colliding with cold and jagged rockface and the other meeting the bulk and warmth of the wolf’s expansive shoulders and chest.
 
He fought to keep his footing, balancing more on his back legs than his front, another snarl tearing through his throat as he reached out, aiming high in his haste at their face, hoping to snag an ear, an eye, his forehead.
 
Because the bastard might have done well to protect his neck, but the dumbass had left his face open and up.