Kazan's inch-long fangs should have sunk deep in its jugular.

But in a fractional part of a second the lynx had thrown itself back like a huge soft ball, and Kazan's teeth buried themselves in the flesh of its neck instead of the jugular.

And Kazan was not now fighting the fangs of a wolf in the pack, or of another husky.

He was fighting claws--claws that ripped like twenty razor-edged knives, and which even a jugular hold could not stop.
Once he had fought a lynx in a trap, and he had not forgotten the lesson the battle had taught him.

He fought to pull the lynx _down_, instead of forcing it on its back, as he would have done with another dog or a wolf.