Now, don't get it twisted.

This isn't the worst situation she's been in.

The thick scar curling around her throat is a testament to the belligerence she's encountered; insight into the extremes didn't make her foolish, though. Benji knows trouble when it greets her and tonight it greets her wordlessly. She's foolish for other reasons.

It's cruelty that she knows so closely. It finds her like a friend. She embraces it like one.

Pressing in, Benji lifts her head and straightens her posture so that they're nearly eye to eye. The hare hangs there, the shadow of blood dripping off plush pale fur. It's almost as though she wants a reaction.

She gets it.

Benji doesn't brace for the initial blow, frenzied teeth sink into the haunches of the hare and jerk her forward but two steps where she regains her footing and tightens her own grip on the torso. The stranger's attack is hungering. Benji's is reactive—taunting. If anyone were to come across them, this may look like a truly demented game of tug of war. Well, for her it is. There's no weight in this for her beyond sustaining stubborn ego.

While not as heavy as the other, she does leverage the difference in weight; using the stranger as an anchor, she hunkers low and scrabbles backward. Benji doesn't growl. She doesn't snarl.

There is only the sudden and unavoidable sound of flesh and fur tearing.