Firefly Glen in my veins like fire

flank, neck, rear—he cuts angles, forces the bull to stumble where it once ruled the field. she gives him a look, all curled lip and fire. he gives nothing back, only letting the flame of his body do the speaking.
when she takes the throat again, he doesn’t hesitate. he drives forward, jaws sinking into the rear tendon with a sickening snap. the bull drops—hard. blood spurts.
there comes a loud bugle of agony as it struggles once more to get up, thrashing with remaining strength to fight off the circling hunters. there is a split second when brown eyes meet brown eyes, raedwulf seeing into the fight of the woman—then action again.
flesh and blood squelch as they bleed the stag, until he crumples in a thud, last breath visible like a cloud of smoke. raedwulf inhales adrenaline-fueled gasps for air to fill his lungs.