03-22-2011, 11:48 PM
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He struggled, whining and acting pathetic. One paw touched his muzzle, pleading for his life with his eyes and the soft, muffled sounds in the back of his throat. Easily, he could have killed him. Easily, he should have killed him. But he released, pulling away, recoiling from the youth.
“Pathetic,” he whispered, reaching out a hand as though to touch the bony, grayscale face in return. “Why play dead? Do you wish for death so badly?” he asked, his voice taking on an almost endearing nuance.