Kjors was-- Kjors was ignoring him.
As far as the younger dragon could tell, his brother wasn’t fleeing so much as he was running towards something. He couldn’t catch what the wolf was muttering, running as quickly as they were. Some small corner of Kjell’s mind twinged, squirming uneasily as he powered after the other male. This could be a trap, it kept trying to insist. He could be leading you into your own demise.
Nah, though.
Kjors wasn’t that kind of wolf. He was like Kjell. He was like Søren. They were greedy, all of them, proud wolves from a line of dragons; if he was going to take this kill, he was going to do it all on his own. It was something else. Something Kjors considered more important – but then, that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it? There was something always more important than Kjell when they were boys. Just the same as their father treated him. He bared his teeth and sprinted forward as Kjors stumbled, spotting his opportunity as it appeared. They hurtled the fallen tree almost in tangent, and three strides later, he was upon his brother.
Throwing his shoulder to the right, he slammed into the older male’s blindside, sending him hurtling down the side of the hill. Kjell stumbled after, careless in his hurry, and slamming his weight on top of Kjors.
“Be a good little fucker,” he snapped, “and lemme show you what it’s like, huh? Don’t you fuckin’ ignore me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”