Heath felt his mouth graze excitedly across the other’s. He gave the stranger a taste of his own blood, his lips bleeding steadily. It was then that his weight played an important factor. The thick legs of the pack wolf’s hind end propelled him forward, and with the force Heath was moved backwards. Quick paws kept him of the ground, though his light feet could not support the other’s heavier weight. Heath felt his knees weaken, and the claws to the male’s front paws dug deep while his teeth searched for his neck. Under him, the black-gloved boy could sneak his own attack against the soft fur and flesh oh his throat. But he barely caught his fur as he tried to move back and free himself from the weight.
A mighty snarl escaped his throat, feeling the claws drag against his form as he ripped himself from the other’s hold. They were both bloodied, battered and no doubt bruised beneath tattered coats. The pain fueled him, but the weakness he felt by the pack wolf’s advantages did not. Heath moved forward once, a snap of his jaws before turning to run. Yes, it was a defeat. Yes he wanted more and wanted to win. But there were times when you needed to take the loss without loosing too much. Heath didn’t look back to see if he was being chased, though his raised tail showed his continued defiance and might provoke him enough to follow. He was fast, even in his halfling form, and he let that pain push him further and faster.