Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

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    swipe perfectly, raking hard at the belly, ripping deep even as the darker leopard tore open his side.
    They landed, sides heaving, blood smearing the leaves around them both as they once again circled warily.
    Ottila tried to take the fight closer to Rio, but Conner cut him off, refusing to give ground, springing once again and driving the other leopard off his feet. Ottila rolled over, spun, nearly somersaulting, his powerful front paw swiping with tremendous force across Conner’s injured back hip. Conner tried to get out of the way enough to at least lessen the blow, but the claw connected, sending fire shooting down his leg and rolling in his belly. His leg collapsed and he went down.
    Ottila leapt on him, claws raking at his belly, breath hot in his face, the malevolent eyes glaring into his as they struggled, nose to nose, Ottila trying to sink his teeth into Conner’s throat. Conner slammed his legs into Ottila’s softer belly, ripping at the fur to draw blood, trying to go deeper while the leopard slashed and bit at his throat. With one last desperate heave, Conner managed to roll his body over and out from under the other leopard. He tried to stand and went down again.
    Ottila circled, snarling, lips drawn back, exposing the bloody canines. There was blood smeared over his muzzle, turning the tawny color muddy. His eyes were red flames, shining with hatred and resolve.
    Conner stayed in position, only expending the energy it took to stay facing the other leopard. His hind end was barely working, the leg weak, with a tendency to crumble beneath him if he put too much weight on it. He was careful to hide the weakness as best he could. Ottila was strong, too good and too experienced for Conner to give him any edge.
    Ottila charged him, a burst of speed, striking with so much force that he not only drove Conner over, but it carried him past the golden leopard as Conner went down, the only thing that really saved Conner’s life. His insides felt broken, smashed to pieces, but he resolutely rolled over and regained his feet, shaking himself. Ottila rose, whirled back, snarling. Conner began limping toward the other leopard, his sides heaving, blood coating his hips, legs and now his sides.
    Rio groaned and shifted position, drawing the enraged leopard’s attention. Ottila snarled again and, dismissing Conner as too injured to be much of a threat, crawled on his belly toward the body lying so still in the brush, now only feet from him. He didn’t want a bullet in his head when he went to finish Conner off. Rio raised his head, his eyes locking with the leopard. The rifle lay loosely in his hand, seemingly forgotten, or Rio was too weak from blood loss to even lift it.
    The tawny leopard pulled back his lips in a grimace of hatred. He looked evil in that moment, using his claws to pull himself inch by inch closer to Rio, prolonging the agony, knowing the man was utterly helpless.
    Conner followed the leopard grimly. As Ottila picked up speed on the ground, Conner struck, a desperation move, driving his two front claws as deep as he could into the leopard’s hips. He dug his back legs into the ground and pulled with every bit of strength he had, dragging the leopard away from Rio.
    Ottila roared with rage and twisted, ripping a razor-sharp claw across Conner’s muzzle. Conner kept dragging him, back-pedaling, his grip relentless. Blood ran down the darker leopard’s legs, and each time he twisted, Conner dug deeper, refusing to allow even that flexible spine to interfere with his determination to remove the threat to Rio.
    Ottila began to panic as the claws kept adjusting, puncturing deeper and deeper, the grip relentless, merciless, unbreakable. Conner sank his long canines into the spine and Ottila’s terror spread like a disease. He twisted and snarled, throwing his weight sideways in an attempt to roll, his claws ripping everything he could touch. He slashed at the golden leopard frantically, chest, muzzle, shoulders and front legs, but he couldn’t dislodge the other animal sawing through his backbone.
    Ottila needed leverage, but the golden leopard countered every move. He seemed to anticipate every move before he made it. He knew Conner was weakening. His continual slashes were taking their toll.
    He raked the face, the chest and shoulders and arms, long, deep slices that spewed fountains of precious blood. He couldn’t get to the throat,