Dragoncrest Cliffs Buffany of House Bufflepuff

The phantom before him was quick to strike back. It had the swiftness of a rapier and the accuracy of a skilled swordsman; he felt teeth cut through his cheek, slicing easily around to his neck, and responded with an otherworldly shriek. He bucked wildly in an effort to escape his attacker's grasp, but it had a good hold on him. There was nothing he could do. The battlefield raged around him, wolves slamming into one another and dissipating like smoke, while the phantom who grasped him leered at him with vividly yellow eyes...

He was too far gone in his panic to hear Vercingetorix, but he felt the weight of another phantom slam into him. He was a goner, he knew it. Ephraim began curling in on himself, making himself as small as possible and guarding his belly and throat from assault. The first phantom hindered him somewhat; its grip on his neck wouldn't allow him to sink to the ground, so he curled his underside and tail up instead in a flawless imitation of a shrimp.

All at once his senses seemed to return; the phantoms took on shapes, names of wolves he thought he knew and thought he respected... and Ephraim whined pitifully and pressed back his ears into a submissive wilt.