Firefly Glen I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry if it got that bad

Once more the satisfaction of his felled opponents did not last long, for the snap of the little one and the break of the fat one enraged the lesser wolves. The silver one aimed at his face, snapping her foul teeth onto his thick, rolling neck. He charged toward the white one with her attached to him, for the white thing had been thrown but went for him yet again.

The white thing's jaws let loose on his armpit, and it hurt, and blood leaked from his wounds. Then he was a bear coated in comparatively tiny cuts, red stains blotching a filthy coat as Yakwahe finally aimed his mouth at the silver one on his neck.

He should have run, perhaps, but the rage blinded him. He hated these stupid dog beasts. And so he snapped toward the silver one hard to rip her from him and the world around her, eyes dilated in a murderous stare as he roared with fury.