Dawn Treader Valley Það svíður mig í augun

The cow kept on fighting, desperate for life but visibly weakening with each passing minute.

Ase was no yearling—this dance was a familiar one to them—and so as the cow elk ramped up the tempo, the dark wolf let go of the throat to avoid the hooves that came flying. Blood sprang from the wounds inflicted by her inscisors. Asenéth licked her lips, panting, momentarily circling.

And then when the other aimed for a bite at the prey's flank, Asenéth moved in for the throat again.

Sought to drag the damned thing down—sink it to its knees.