Sven's frustration was peaking, his own ineptitude perhaps rivaling Peirus' senseless taunts in terms of how enraging each was to the monthling prince. His opponent was too perceptive, too well prepared, too experienced, and yet again Sven was left with nothing but air upon his tongue as he slipped innocuously by. This time, the child did not seek to place distance between them so that he might better aim his next attack. Instead, he reacted swiftly, curling around and chasing Peiru's movements with his clacking fangs. So determined, so frenzied was he to land a hit and taste this man's blood, he did not take enough care into defending himself against what the Asurn villain would try in retaliation.

A yelp was swallowed back, not allowed to reach the air, as Peirus' fangs cut into the flesh atop Sven's hip. The pain cut through his lower back and shot down his leg, but Sven fought through it, still attempting to grapple a grip onto his opponent with his jaws. It did not occur to him just how grave the situation truly was. He was losing, but he had called for help, and despite the teetering position his small family held within the Ridge, it was certain he wouldn't be ignored (right... ?). Someone would come, any minute now, and then Peirus would be dealt with accordingly. It didn't cross his mind that they might be too late, that this, his brash actions and loud mouth, might be the end of him.

Out of nowhere it seemed, @Morganna appeared, a breathless grin stealing over the princeling's face as his pale gaze locked momentarily upon the flash of her fangs. Pierus' attention was thoroughly stolen from him, and the boy was given a moment to catch his breath. He watched his aunt secure her grip, tearing viciously at the vulnerable, thin meat of Peirus' leg and satisfaction darkened his ghostly features, the angelic features granted unto him by his saintly mother twisting wickedly out of sheer pleasure derived from this man's pain. He wanted that, to be in Morganna's place, to be tasting the sweet mixture of blood and revenge. The throbbing of his wounds only made him want it more, and as Peirus dared to turn on his aunt, Sven did not hesitate to throw himself back into the fray and attempt to get a taste for himself.

This occasion had done little to better the boy's tactics, adrenaline and pressure chasing the lessons offered from his mind for now. Later, he would be able to reflect, to truly see what should have been done differently. Currently, he blindly lept at the villain, jaws seeking whatever flesh or bone they may find.

He had missed again, but this time it did not matter so much, as his attempt had landed time enough for Morganna to get her piece in once more. That wicked grin was growing upon his face, and he held his ground to witness what unraveled before him. Pride swelled within him as he watched his aunt fight, her strength attributed fully to the Archer blood that he shared with her. Sven would certainly need to ask her to train him, to teach him to fight as she did so that never again would he have to call for reinforcements. Next, he was determined, the ghostling prince would be able to win the battle alone.

Peirus, measuring his chances and accepting the loss, turned to run, and Sven immediately set his lengthening legs into motion to take up chase. He ran at the left flank, leaving room for his aunt to take up the right, snapping at the other man's heels and hocks. If he had any intelligence left in that brain of his, the foreigner would never return to the Ridge, less it was on his belly, begging for death. That much was thoroughly cemented within the boy's mind.