06-20-2008, 04:57 PM
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OOC: I have amazing skills at holding up threads. I have no excuse for this whatsoever D:
The smell of blood was overwhelming, intoxicating, sickly, sticking to his throat, making him gag. Never, in his worst dreams, had he thought of this. Fighting. For no cause other than a friend in need. For although Lubomir was a weak, pathetic fighter with little skill, he knew devotion. But now, despite the blood and violence, the fog refused to fall before his eyes. The rationality remained and it scared him. His wild, animal side could tackle this but he refused to do anything but that back and watch, chuckling to himself. This coyote amused him and he did not see her worthy of fighting.
With every brisk movement a renascent shot of pain criss-crossed his body, doubling his vision. Gabriel's wound throbbed violently and where Umbra had grazed his chest had barely started to scab. Deuce's wound were open and bleeding and he knew, in his heart, that she could kill him with one well-placed blow. That now he needed to stay strong and not be destroyed by the pain. Because Skoll needed him. Her shot caught him off-guard, but he managed to scramble backwards and only his front left leg was grazed, a new bleeding red flower spreading through his fur. In a daze, he remembered that Pilot did some healing. That he might help them both, if they survived. And then he thought of what it would be like to have the entire pack decimated by this crazy coyote, Lubomir and Skoll's bodies lying here in a tangled mess.
It was Skoll's cry which made him snap out of it. No. No tangled messes of broken flesh. He had promised them. Mew and Haku. He had promised them his friendship. He had a word to keep. No running. No hiding. No back down. 'If I get stabbed, I get stabbed here and now. If she harms me, kill her.' He had lowered his voice enough for Skoll to hear. 'And tell Ember she gave me the best days of my life.' It felt pathetic to ask for more. Skoll was a warrior, not a poet. But if he survived, Lubomir was certain the yellow wolf would pass on the message. He would. He had to. He turned his gaze back to SteelRose and snarled, baring his teeth, his first aggressive gesture without the animal to fall back on. And he shot a glance at Skoll. Lubomir needed a cue, a word, a sign to distract the crazy one enough to give Skoll an opening. He could only pray to Fenrir that their stamina would last that long.
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The smell of blood was overwhelming, intoxicating, sickly, sticking to his throat, making him gag. Never, in his worst dreams, had he thought of this. Fighting. For no cause other than a friend in need. For although Lubomir was a weak, pathetic fighter with little skill, he knew devotion. But now, despite the blood and violence, the fog refused to fall before his eyes. The rationality remained and it scared him. His wild, animal side could tackle this but he refused to do anything but that back and watch, chuckling to himself. This coyote amused him and he did not see her worthy of fighting.
With every brisk movement a renascent shot of pain criss-crossed his body, doubling his vision. Gabriel's wound throbbed violently and where Umbra had grazed his chest had barely started to scab. Deuce's wound were open and bleeding and he knew, in his heart, that she could kill him with one well-placed blow. That now he needed to stay strong and not be destroyed by the pain. Because Skoll needed him. Her shot caught him off-guard, but he managed to scramble backwards and only his front left leg was grazed, a new bleeding red flower spreading through his fur. In a daze, he remembered that Pilot did some healing. That he might help them both, if they survived. And then he thought of what it would be like to have the entire pack decimated by this crazy coyote, Lubomir and Skoll's bodies lying here in a tangled mess.
It was Skoll's cry which made him snap out of it. No. No tangled messes of broken flesh. He had promised them. Mew and Haku. He had promised them his friendship. He had a word to keep. No running. No hiding. No back down. 'If I get stabbed, I get stabbed here and now. If she harms me, kill her.' He had lowered his voice enough for Skoll to hear. 'And tell Ember she gave me the best days of my life.' It felt pathetic to ask for more. Skoll was a warrior, not a poet. But if he survived, Lubomir was certain the yellow wolf would pass on the message. He would. He had to. He turned his gaze back to SteelRose and snarled, baring his teeth, his first aggressive gesture without the animal to fall back on. And he shot a glance at Skoll. Lubomir needed a cue, a word, a sign to distract the crazy one enough to give Skoll an opening. He could only pray to Fenrir that their stamina would last that long.