Two peas

The Warlord’s blood was high from the chase. A vent for his frustration in the form of a nimble, silver wolf that tore through his damaged home. He could scent wrongness in the woods around them, which only added to the fuel of his frustration. His paws tore across the earth, surprisingly silent for the fur beneath his pads and the sheathed cat-like claws that formed his paws.

He caught up to her when she set herself, clearly prepared to take him on. He could live with that. He launched himself at her, aiming to smash his larger shoulder into her chest. In the same instance, his teeth went for her throat. Aiming to clamp down and narrow her airways as well as subdue and control her. It was all about control, in the end…

"Basilisk"