Dodge, block, leap, take the hit on arm instead of face, dodge break right... crimson eyes flash with the opposite of benevolence, a perfect match for the blood now spattered over all three men. The fox and his wolf are brave, but both marked; they share a glance of worry at each other's wounds, but there is no time for that. Dodge, block, leap, kick... desperately look for an opening. Two against one isn't fair, but not the way it seems. The rabid weasel grins, eyes flashing with power and madness in parallel streaks. The next attack is faster still and fiercer. Tan skin is marked again by a deep gash, blood spilling out to stain the fox's orange clothing just a little darker. His pale, dark-eyed lover looks up in concern, wolf protecting a pack mate, before another attack forces him to watch his own back. Metal clashes angrily with metal, biting sometimes into wood, and more rarely into flesh. Throughout it all there is no sound but ragged breathing and the occasional sick thunk. Pale blue eyes blink away blood, meeting for a moment the lesser red. Lovers confide the awful truth—wolf and fox are losing.
