Bitterroot Valley I miss the misery

The strike was expected.

The speed was not.

A grin was still splitting Diesel's face when the wolf's fangs closed about a fold of skin above her brow. On instinct she tried to throw her head back, but the beast's teeth had already found purchase.

She felt something tear.

Somehow, she freed herself, but the dog could feel warmth build up above her right brow, then drip down...

No time to think. 

The mastiff lunged forward with a vicious snarl to challenge the wolf's own, aiming for the face and the long scars gracing it.

An eye for an eye, motherfucker.

Rolled a 9. Diesel had a fold of skin above her right-side eye bitten off.