Of course Malcoda would not stand there as a young fighter (NOT a pup, she snarled deeply at the implication) came toward him, but she had not expected him to. She expected him to swat her down, to bat her away as a lord Hades might a spark from a flame. What he would not expect, though, what she had been counting on, was for her to fake her landing. It hurt, the claws in her belly, but she had been prepared for the hurt and so when she yelped in pain, when her body crashed into the ground, it was more for show. More to make him focus on the noise than on her head as it suddenly snapped up, her jaws clamping hard on the thinnest point of his tail as it swished by, because she knew it would, because he would not turn his back to her for very long. That tail was his best weapon against her, and she was going to take it out.
Her jaw locked, she was dragged as he moved his tail, her body running over the dirt like a heavy bag of sand. But she did not let go. Her back feet shot out, rabbit kicks tearing at Malcoda's ribcage while she struggled to hang on with her teeth.