In a single moment, the world swerved from it’s humored demeanor into a dangerous one, as if angry that Tychon hadn’t appreciated the joke. He stiffened, unsure what had disturbed him at first. His serrated black, amber eyes shifted uneasily towards the brush, but when he saw nothing, he skeptically lowered his muzzle to the puddle again to lap up more liquid. Just as he did, though, he saw an unnatural glint of light flash between bushes. Tychon closed his mouth tightly and his ears stood at attention for movement in the brush. His nose twitched at the floral scent of the woodland, and faintly, he picked up the trance of another wolf. Were they hunting? Tychon thought about telling them there wasn’t likely much prey around, but screw that; they could find it out for themselves… Besides, his guts were restless. He didn’t think he should try to initiate contact with that particular wolf. Tychon rolled his eyes and lowered his head back to the puddle, only to find himself yelping at the aggressive lunge of a larger, white male.

He side stepped quickly, though somewhat clumsily. Tychon was a sturdy sort, but his build was not graceful; it was boar like. If he learned how to handle himself, he’d be hard to blow over, but he didn’t have formal training or battle experience. As a result, the white male was position to sink his teeth into Tychon’s cheek rather than his muzzle. Before the strike, the foreign word ”Mundare” permeated through the young male’s being like neurotoxins paralyzing movement.

Tychon heart rate skyrocketed when his muscles locked him in shock. He’d heard of wolf hunters, but he couldn’t comprehend that he was being hunted. At least, not until he felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into his cheek. Without formal training, Tychon couldn’t objectively analyze his situation, and so instead relied on instinct. Wrath flared through his chest in response to his terror; wrath was protective. He needed to survive, and the anger put motion back into his legs. Wildly, Tychon snapped his head around and drove his fangs after the nightmare’s right eye. The moment dragged the aggressor’s teeth along his cheek, and a long wound was sliced open as a result. The sound of ripping flesh reinforced Tychon’s panic. A snarl forcefully exploded from the tan and brown youngster’s lips, further deforming his mouth and nose.

As if to punish him for his noisy defend, something else attacked him. He didn’t know what it was at first. It was only defined by a blur of brown and the fiery pain that followed it across his back. It’s teeth punctured through his thick fur into his skin on either side of his spine. The weight of the unseen animal was light in comparison to many, but it was sudden, significant change that caused Tychon to stumble, having his balance already been to far in that particular direction. His back hindquarters collapsed to the ground. Tychon attempted to bite through the White male’s head in order to whip around to remove the thing clenching his back, but it was a futile attempt; no one had the skill or strength to remove a wolf’s head in one bite.