When he trained, Max did not strike with teeth or claws. There was no need for it. He used skills learned in lessons on prey animals, but they instinctively fled versus an opponent who fought. For Max, this was new. He was basing his behavior on his lessons, obeying what he had been taught. To strike as a coyote was one thing, and it often was this method that wolves seemed to forget. While they too were capable of the speedy strike, slash, retreat behavior, it was rarely seen in close combat. Relying on thicker fur and loose skin allowed for them to take bigger risks and go for the throat, as was standard for all predators.
The gray wolf spun on Columbine, forgetting Max as he sunk teeth into the Hastati’s shoulder. A doggish snarl rumbled from the pale hybrid, lips pulling away from heavy-set, Malamute teeth. Ignorant of his heritage he did not know that this blood would too give him an advantage—heavier than a wolf he was capable of dealing a remarkable amount of damage (and take blows on his own loose neck-scruff). Paws spread across the ground, giving him grip, and once more the halfbreed launched himself forward.
Columbine’s behavior was a welcomed distraction. Max sunk his teeth into the wolf’s hind leg and crunched down savagely, shattering the bone. It was enough to break the combatant from the dusky coyote’s attack, earning Max a savage bite across his head. Teeth raked over his skull and closed around his ear, but it gave way and ripped free, leaving him bleeding but not badly so. A challenging snarl came from his chest, well-aware that with one broken leg the fight would not last long. This surprised him—he had always imagined killing a wolf would be somehow more difficult than killing a deer.
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