Flycatcher Downs vorarephobia

She felt the animal balk and sway, now hindered by a gaping wound at its flank. The animal’s breath was warm against her side as she hung still clinging to the thick skin at its shoulder. She tasted the blood that slipped between her teeth, and urged by a cry from her hunting companion, she released her hold, dropped to the ground and then sprang for the ungulate’s throat again. 

It struck toward her with futile dashes of its forelegs, she stuck out a hind limb of her own to press it into the animal’s chest to keep her body from becoming a punching bag. 

With each second that passed, the animal would become weaker from oxygen deprivation. Now, with its windpipe crushed, it would never live to run with its herd mates again.