Perhaps he had been wrong to ignore the puny grey heathen so entirely. By turning his back on the runt he exposed himself to the unknown, and was completely unable to anticipate the attack. A sudden weight fell on his shoulders that knocked him to the ground. Slamming into the winter-frozen ground knocked the air from him, but he had enough sense to roll, hoping to dislodge the disgusting curr. By this time the witch had already regained her feet and he had lost the window of opportunity. Lying on the ground some feet away, still breathless, he was in no position to dodge the silver monster as she dove for a second attack. Kiche only had time to brace himself as she slammed into him.
The impact stole what little remained of the air in his lungs. Her teeth gouged his shoulder, tearing skin and fur. The wound, though it bled freely, was not grave — the she-devil had been moving, after all, and had probably been more focused on knocking him off balance. She stood over him now, which put him in a very bad position, without any leverage entirely. His instincts screamed at him, shouting, <i>DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING!</i> Panicking, lunged at her legs, hoping to maim her like a bear trap.
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