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.