Little Goat Mountain transient

Tension builds the longer he waits, turning her head slightly as if she were to look at him, but he moves and is upon her the next moment. Ocra grunts with the added weight on tired legs, whining when he takes her by the scruff. Submitting does not always get her away pain free but the added aroma her body puts off probably drives something stronger—darker—than he’s put her through. A vice grip holds her hips, scratching against the mix of old and new wounds ground into her skin by his claws, wincing each time he squeezes. His teeth snap against the flesh over her shoulder and she yelps loudly, arching back against the assault.