(I knew what I wanted, I went in and got it, did all of the things that you said that I wouldn't)
Asmund walked the edge of the pack's claim, his nerves aflame with fear but his determination strong. He breathed steadily, consciously, aware of every step he took, of everything around him, the sounds, shifts of light and shadow, the direction of the wind, the scents it brought. Everything was poured into presence, as though his very life depended on mastering this practice.
Something caused a branch to break and snap to his left, further into the woods that were not home, and Az froze, head snapping round and ears quivering with the strain of stain of standing so tall. The breeze would not help him in this moment, and the worms in his gut squirmed and insisted it must be the man who'd followed Llinnea into the Backwater that day. He fought back the image of him lunging from out of the dark and attacking him, tried to maintain that sole focus while his heart hammered on.
Moments passed, and nothing sounded nor moved. A rodent, perhaps? He waited longer still, counted as high as he knew to and then again, and was about to finally concede that he was being paranoid when it burst from its cover. He saw Rayjiek's face, and screamed.
@Oleander's cougar had been a parent, and their daughter had returned, young but still lethal in her own right. She lunged for the wolf, so small and so fearful she could smell it, intending to kill.
They collided and he was thrown from his paws. The impact knocked the wind from him, and its claws were already tearing into him by the time his terror-gripped body could think to react, piercing fangs sinking in somewhere above his shoulder.
"HELP!" he shrieked, tears springing to his eyes. It hurt so much worse than what the fox had managed to do to him, and all he could think of was how long it had taken his poor mother to die, how long she had fought for.
"HELP ME!"
What if no one came until it was too late, like it had been for her? He couldn't hear anyone, no snarls or barks or thundering pawprints, just the ripping of his fur and skin and his own sobs. No one was coming, not in time.
Asmund twisted, sinking his teeth into his attacker with a vice grip. His hind legs began to kick mercilessly, dull claws digging and ripping. The cougar began to growl and hiss through her own grasp, but her determination was just as strong. What the fuck had he even done to this thing to deserve such a vicious attack? What had he ever done to anyone to constantly be made a victim?
Az snarled and bit down deeper, instincts and training both kicking in. He began to shake his head with such force it incapacitated the feline's shoulder, effectively taking out one limb and its excruciating claws. It faltered from the pain and impaired mobility both, giving him the opportunity to regain his footing and wrestle it down beneath him.
It was his turn to hurt, now.
I'M STILL BREATHING, I'M STILL BREATHING