08-06-2008, 05:09 PM
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  Anselm knew there was no shame in running--live to fight another day. Perhaps others had their codes of pride or honour, but he valued one thing and one thing alone: self preservation. It was instinctual, and anybody that denied themselves this was a damned fool. She snarled at him and he continued to stare. His feet were light and his muscles loose, ready to move in an instant if she chose to advance. But for now, he simply stood his ground and waited. Another snarl, and then she turned to flee. Anselm took a seat where he was, not pursuing her but simply watching as she vanished into the brush. She had understood. Maybe. Well, she had understood enough.With the excitement of the battle subsiding, he became more acutely aware of his own wounds. Once he was sure that she was gone (and the ruckus hadn't attracted anyone else), he allowed his eyes to drop so that he may inspect the damage. The back of his neck obviously hurt, and his shoulder and chest had taken a few good blows, as had his hind haunch. Nothing seemed life threatening, but he elected to get himself to a stream immediately to clean out the wounds with water and patch them up with mud to stop the bleeding, if necessary. A trooper, he continued into the old territory further. If a pack lived here, they had water. This setback certainly wouldn't keep him from doing his job. |