You better run, better run

The weasel-like boy wasted no time in lunging forward at her, his needle-like teeth and sabers glinting as he went to grab at the inside of her foreleg. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, paws quick to try and dodge the attack. Still, he managed to nip a small portion, those damn saber teeth, and she winced, feeling a small trickle of blood wet her fur. The Cherubim lifted her leg and swiped at him, aiming to give him a good, strong cuff on the side of the head to hopefully disorient him and, on her part, feel a bit like she was giving him a punishment for the deed.