Rising Sun Valley skwila

he was much heavier than her, his blows harder and more demanding of bruise and blood. teeth scoured the side of her neck, twisting through her thin pelt until cerise bloomed in haunting orbs along her skin.
her gasp of agony was swallowed by the vibration of his snarling; he drove a shoulder into her chest and she dropped as if she were no more than wood and sinew, gasping for air that would not come.
if his onslaught continued, she was too weak and misted from lack of oxygen to fight him off, the growl muted and horrible, her kicking limbs too heavy to lift for long, her jaws slow.