04-28-2010, 06:26 PM
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(303.)
The dark fur along King's spine stood up on end as the two fought—a noise somewhere between a yowl and a growl coming when his mother kicked the attacking coyote away, then picking up a rock. The youth's violent mind wanted her to smash his head with it, end his pathetic existence, and he tried to alert his mother of the coyote when he refocused his attack. Anger broiled in his veins when he saw the coyote's claws cut into his mother's torso, allowing the crimson blood to seep through and paint it. But despite this and despite how he made his mother lose her balance, she still got a good swipe at him with the rock in her hands. But the coyote was at it again, nipping at her heels like some child.
A darker, quieter part of King's mind wondered why the idiot didn't go for someplace a little more vital, but he was personally glad that he wasn't. He really wanted his mother to kick him in the face again.
But the rock had fallen from her hands, landing in the grass only a few feet away from him. She struggled to gain some space between her assailant and herself, edging towards the rock. King's blue eyes grew wide with an instinctual fear when she turned her back on the enemy, fumbling blindly for the stone to use to defend herself. The puppy wanted to run forward, scrabble his way to the coyote's throat and kill that damned beast before it could hurt his mother any more. But he was realistic—he knew that he would get attacked and that he would die much quicker than his mother would. But still, he stared with wide and rarely-fearful eyes as he waited for the worst, breath caught in his throat.