Herbalists' Cache cen

Ksura’s conviction became shaken not in anticipation of pain, but when he saw the man he charged grinning in anticipation of their match. The blow of weight and teeth that was intended to shove Dark Fang at least a stride to the side failed completely, and the wolfdog slammed into fur, bone and muscle that was as as hard as rock. 

It was as anticipated; a full blooded wolf would have the edge over him- all he could rely on was his quick reaction time, that sheepdog instinct that made him capable of predicting a kick or headbutt moments before it happened. 

He tasted the man’s blood where his fangs did little but prick the skin beneath the man’s dense fur. He withdrew his hold the moment he felt the muscles pull tight, knowing the man meant to return the punishment. He heard a cackle, and felt his heart drop.

He skip-hopped backwards, snapping jaws warding the man off from the purchase that he’d intended, and felt the rip of soft flesh being torn in a long, bloody strip from the point of his shoulder up the side of his neck to his jawline, where it snapped and left behind exposed muscle and sinew in a long, thin, pink strip that began to well with blood only a moment later, thick, bright, and orangish-red in contrast with dark fur, white snow. 

So easily flayed was the skin of a wolfdog whose jaws were truly no match.

Raccoon! He belted again, his voice breaking in anguish as he began a boxer’s dance, hoping to keep enough space for himself, only to realize that his plan had failed.

There was no sign of Kekoa, and he knew couldn’t do this on his own. Snarls lifted from all around, and Ksura crouched, tail tucked, as he sent a glance in each direction to see the clamour of bodies and spray of blood. 

It was too much. It was all too much- and he was no match for it. He sought his escape route, and made a bid for an exit, dodging and weaving as he went.