06-19-2009, 06:02 PM
Theoretically, any of Brennt's frenzied attacks over the last several posts could leave Dawali with serious wounds...it's sort of the equivalent of a human sitting on an enemy and punching them in the face...it's actually more dangerous that way than with both of them standing, so I figured it'd be an invitation for you to just choose where you wanted the bad wounds =P However, for something more clear-cut, I'll go ahead and toss in something here that Dawali can take home with him?
Its prey tried to escape, tried to wriggle between it and the wall in the dark. It kept after him, grabbing the flesh and tearing with its teeth. Still, its motions were slow, and it felt the smaller wolf pull out of its fangs, and run along its flank, before planting his jaws in the beast's inner leg and clamping down, opening a spout of blood where the femoral artery lie beneath the skin. The predator snarled loudly, building up its failing strength, and plunging its face into the meat of Dawali's back, the muscles of its jaws bunching with desperate power. The two released one another, but after a moment's hesitation, the larger wolf pushed forward, ramming into its enemy with its shoulder, and slamming him into the ancient wall, which creaked with ominous import.
After several seconds of groaning indecision, the wall held, and the massive gray-wolf turned to walk clumsily away, before collapsing onto the floor, in a puddle warm blood. The predator didn't understand what was happening, and as often happened when it was unsure of something, it resorted to the words its mother had taught it two years ago, before everything had gone so terribly wrong.
"Mother..." he said weakly, his voice raw and thick with exhaustion, the words heavy and strange as they always were on Brennt's tongue. In the dark, he didn't know that his eyes were losing focus. Laying there in the oppressive night, he forgot why he was hurt so badly, and suddenly, in that blind tomb, nothing made sense to the perpetually confused young wolf. "Mommy, where are you...can't see." He whimpered pitifully, inching his head to the side, as if that would help him see in the black. "I feel bad, my tummy feels sick," the whimpering began to peter off...the dying wolf's voice began sounding sleepy. The blood loss was catching up with him, and the nausea was as bad as the pain of his many wounds. "It hurts bad, Mommy. Where are you?" There was nothing but the sound of the wind outside and his frightened breathing.
"I'm sorry about the puppies. I wanted you to..." his breath came in long and pained...there was a barely perceptible sob hiding in the drawn breath. "....pay attention to me again. I wanted to be favorite." His voice was like a whisper, and with a heavy sigh, he rested his head. The dark was absolute. There, in the impenetrable black, believing himself alone, in a sightless world of fear and pain, Brennt passed from the world. The predator died with him.
Its prey tried to escape, tried to wriggle between it and the wall in the dark. It kept after him, grabbing the flesh and tearing with its teeth. Still, its motions were slow, and it felt the smaller wolf pull out of its fangs, and run along its flank, before planting his jaws in the beast's inner leg and clamping down, opening a spout of blood where the femoral artery lie beneath the skin. The predator snarled loudly, building up its failing strength, and plunging its face into the meat of Dawali's back, the muscles of its jaws bunching with desperate power. The two released one another, but after a moment's hesitation, the larger wolf pushed forward, ramming into its enemy with its shoulder, and slamming him into the ancient wall, which creaked with ominous import.
After several seconds of groaning indecision, the wall held, and the massive gray-wolf turned to walk clumsily away, before collapsing onto the floor, in a puddle warm blood. The predator didn't understand what was happening, and as often happened when it was unsure of something, it resorted to the words its mother had taught it two years ago, before everything had gone so terribly wrong.
"Mother..." he said weakly, his voice raw and thick with exhaustion, the words heavy and strange as they always were on Brennt's tongue. In the dark, he didn't know that his eyes were losing focus. Laying there in the oppressive night, he forgot why he was hurt so badly, and suddenly, in that blind tomb, nothing made sense to the perpetually confused young wolf. "Mommy, where are you...can't see." He whimpered pitifully, inching his head to the side, as if that would help him see in the black. "I feel bad, my tummy feels sick," the whimpering began to peter off...the dying wolf's voice began sounding sleepy. The blood loss was catching up with him, and the nausea was as bad as the pain of his many wounds. "It hurts bad, Mommy. Where are you?" There was nothing but the sound of the wind outside and his frightened breathing.
"I'm sorry about the puppies. I wanted you to..." his breath came in long and pained...there was a barely perceptible sob hiding in the drawn breath. "....pay attention to me again. I wanted to be favorite." His voice was like a whisper, and with a heavy sigh, he rested his head. The dark was absolute. There, in the impenetrable black, believing himself alone, in a sightless world of fear and pain, Brennt passed from the world. The predator died with him.