Ross rolled, trying to escape
steel-fingered hands, his own chopping out in edgewise blows, striving
to serve Ennar as he had Tulka.
He had to take a lot of punishment, though he managed to elude the
powerful bear's hug in which he knew the other was laboring to engulf
him, a hold which would speedily crush him into submission. Clinging to
the methods he had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with a
growing panic, that his best was not good enough. He was too spent to
make an end. Unless he had some piece of great good luck, he could only
delay his own defeat.
Fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, and Ross did what he had never
thought to do in any fight--he snapped wolfishly, his teeth closing on
flesh as he brought up his knee and drove it home into the body
wriggling on his. There was a gasp of hot breath in his face as Ross
called upon the last few rags of his strength, tearing loose from the
other's slackened hold. He scrambled to one knee. Ennar was also on his
knees, crouching like a four-legged beast ready to spring.
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