Lamont had already lost one fight today, purely thanks to magical intervention, and he was NOT going to lose another. "Fuck this lightweight!" he thought arrogantly. "This oversized lapdog can go take its wannabe landowner shit somewhere else!" It should have been humiliating to be going all in on a fight with a lowly forest critter, the kind that should have feared him as a superior species, but the idea of running away or submitting to it was so much worse! They both snarled and looked each other in the eye.
They went at it with their claws and teeth, snapping and yelping as the fight progressed. It hurt like a bitch, but Lamont wasn't one to scamper away at a little booboo. He'd brought bigger and stronger men to tears in bar-fights, he could hold his own for at least a few moments longer he thought. Lamont was actually loving his new claws at this point--it felt awesome to puncture another life-form and draw blood, teaching himself to melee with weapons he could never lose because he was growing them out of his own body, they were inherent to who he was and what he would always be. It was intensely more satisfying than just bumping a fellow drunk's face with a balled-up fist, hoping to manage a black eye. If he had this kind of power back home with his own family, then surely he would have never lost them, or so he thought.
The fight felt like it took minutes but was really only five or ten seconds. The other wolf had managed two or three lunges at Damon's former step-father and to had run away squealing with its tail tucked tight and its ears pinned back in terror. Apparently, even its lifetime of natural section and skin-of-its-teeth survival had made it no match for an opponent who, despite having been in this kind of body for only a day, had lived a lifetime of getting on violence and disdain for the others' well-being. Lamont let out a few more angry barks to urge his weakly opponent away faster. "This is MY place NOW, bitch," he thought, spreading his rear appendages widely again and letting another piss loose while he was still feeling the rush of his adrenaline and the familiar thrill of forcing someone else to bend to his will. Now he would get to bask in the smell of his own dominance while he ate.
Going back to his rabbit and finally filling his belly, Lamont watched the setting sun idly and started to lick at his wounds. Satisfying that the pain was fading away for the most part, he proceeded to clean himself elsewhere. He kind of missed his warm shower, but his embarrassingly large tongue was versatile enough to do the job. Licking his paws clean of blood from the rabbit and the wolf reminded him once more of his conquest. He hadn't even been a wolf one day and already felt like he was rising up the pecking order and rebuilding his ego. Maybe being a wolf bitch in the wild wouldn't be so different than what he'd tried to teach Damon that being a man was like. Maybe Circe's attempt at punishment failed miserably at being a real punishment after all, giving him a body a real tough-guy could leverage into the force of a lifetime. Or maybe (though he was too dumb and chauvinistic to think this), Circe usually tries to get her victims into fitting animal forms, and she realized that everyone would be better with Lamont as a wolf rather than a human being. Oh well, Lamont's belly was full and this patch of forest smelled like it should, and it was time for him to put his head on his mighty paws and see if he could rest up from all this.