Shy Deer Steppes [m] no hay ultima pagina

To stand, to fight, these aspects had not come naturally to the dog whose puphood had been spent scrounging for scraps– no;
Muscle had been won only by the merit of his own resolve; by making himself a tireless target for the cartel to ground their fangs.

Unprepared as he was, the hound swiveled to take the brunt of her charge to his shoulder, teeth a grisly snarl beneath the force of her onslaught. Deafening growls split his chest and riled through each limb, carrying across the dry lands to a shake free a susurration of crow’s caws from the thorny undergrowth.

Niño gave tongue like a bear and whipped his jaws aside, snatching for the thick flesh on sangre’s scruff in attempts to tug her away. She was pulled off but not without leaving behind an ugly, hatched bite-mark he decided would be her’s to pay for incessantly.

Throwing himself forward, the hound sought to secure the woman’s chest beneath his paws, weighty and massive, eyes enlivened and victorious upon her own. He cleared his jowls of a sticky amalgamation of spit and blood and drank in breaths over ragged, pulsing heartbeats.

Good chase.
She lost.
He won.