Something warm coated his tongue, energizing the pup further in a way he didn't understand just yet, growling and latching on even harder as a paw came to try to push him away much gentler than he expected. This was The Enemy that hurt his kin, so he did what he must, scrambling to get a grip on the cold snow (oh his TOES Thats cold) and tugging back with a twist of his head. Ineffective at this size, but a valiant effort none the less.

Then he heard his mother's voice, telling him to let go. The tripod loosened his grip somewhat, unsure, before letting go completely as she pawed at him. Pomegranate looked up at her, the speckle of blood on his white muzzle, confused amber eyes looking from Mother to The Enemy Worm that was Not A Worm.

...wow it's cold up here, actually.