Pamela vs Regulus

Pamela too would be injured from her own charge, the left point of his shoulder driven into the center of her upper chest. The wind would be knocked from the female, a gasp escaping her lips. Dammit. She could feel the bruise forming where the two had connected during the charge. Perhaps coming at an opponent larger than herself had not been such a wise idea after all. Especially when her opponent was coming back at her so hard.

Despite the young man’s counter however she still managed to get a hold on him. Her teeth would pierce his shoulder, her upper canines leaving moderate scratches, but she would not be able to keep her hold, left with only a mouthful of his fur and blood instead of the hold that she had been hoping for. She would focus on correcting her balance, her legs spread apart, weight evenly distributed across the limbs. Her head would also be lowered, aligned with her spine, with her neck scrunched. Ears would be pinned, her eyes narrowed, and tail remained tucked as she was left to act more without thinking. Hackles raised, jaws parting, a snarl would rip from her lips in the heat of it all.

Pamela would not loose faith, however, and simply give up. If there was one thing the woman had it was a sense of pride in the sort of fighter that she was. She would feel the man get a loose hold on her scruff, in part thanks to her scrunching her neck, but still enough to pose a threat. She would dig her hind legs into the ground, claws biting the soil as she shifted her weight to resist his push. It would deepen the bruise already forming upon her chest, but the woman was stubborn and refused to be felled.

The young slate woman would change tactics now, lifting her front left leg, and shifting her weight again to compromise for her balance, before slamming it towards where she assumed the young man’s toes would be. She was seeking to bruise the toes, perhaps even get her claws in the webbing of his paws if she was lucky. It was a horrendously crippling move, but one that might cause him some pain and discomfort during the fight. In addition, braving the moderate tearing of her own flesh upon her scruff, Pamela would twist her head to the left to snap at the soft flesh of his underbelly. She was merely seeking to wound with this bite, not get a hold. The female just wanted him to back off, even if for a moment, so that she was not shoved to the ground. Someone was going to have to give.