Somewhere, he knew that retaliation had been a mistake, that he should've run, not provoked — but something in his blood had awoken, demanding some kind of mayhem, and his soul grew so cold he wondered why the air wasn't freezing. It had been so long since the blood had thrummed this way in his veins, so long since the darkness had wrapped itself like an old, familiar friend around his mind. Rationality was soothed by crooning whispers, thrill shooting through him at the sound of the wolf's pain. He could learn to like this.

But then, the shadows moved. He'd known she was out there, she or someone else, but not exactly where. There was no way he could've prepared himself fully — growling, brandishing fangs, she came flying and he let out a mindless roar. Magic-mad or not, she was still a god damn wolf and he an idiot. Dancing on the spot he lurched sideways, instinct driving his feet unnecessarily high. In the flurry of movement he loosened his connection with the scrawny wolf, the ice in his blood melting, and his right hind shot up but not before her teeth had latched onto his pastern. "Tík!" he screamed, feeling her teeth sink into the thin skin; without a thought he kicked out, hard, hoping to hit her hip and pull free of her grip at the same time, and pain be damned. Barely touching it down he twisted his hips to the right, and send both hind hooves flying, just in case he hadn't shaken her off yet. Blood marred the white, trailing down his feathers, and he vaguely heard the physical echo of Irma's shrill call. She was, in no uncertain terms, pissed off.

And so was the blasted half-wolf. What the hell had he attacked the scrawny one for? "You wish," he snarled in response, grasping at whatever straws he had and backpedaling for a moment. It was no good, each step with his right hind an erratic twitch, he couldn't hold his weight on it, least of all since the damn thing came flying on his left.. Spitting out some curse in a foreign tongue he made a move to the right, bracing on his left hindleg; fleet-footed despite his injury, he scrambled to align them more head to head, and the wolf slammed into his front, though Mauja's horn passed on the wolf's left. A strangled cry escaped him at the impact, all dignity forgotten in the face of his half-tattered rage; pushed back by the force his quivering left hindleg threatened to give way, and teeth snapped for his neck and face. Jerking aside, hopping to the right he tried to spin away, each burning sensation across his cheek and crest testament to ripped skin and blood-filled gashes, but nothing caught hold. Vindictive, Mauja arched his neck to the left and tried to stab the monster between the ribs or in the gut, one ear listening through the flurry for sounds of the wolves, but they were so damn silent he might as well try to see shadows in the dark.