03-29-2012, 11:03 AM
Had he not been more concerned with his impending doom, he would have found it curious that neither of them were mercenaries. Perhaps he would guessed that like him, they were both escaping from their past.
His first inclination was to take his donkey and run, but he thought better of that when he saw the two were going to stand and fight. It would be seen as cowardly to run away now, and not only that - it might actually be safer to be near two warriors. The wolfdog saw their horse escape and wondered if it might be best for him to do the same with his donkey. First, though, he needed a weapon in case one of the attackers spotted him. Doc spent a moment rummaging around in the pack that Cinnamon carried. It contained a variety of poisons and herbs with him, but there was not enough time to smear them on a weapon and use them - not that he was sure that would work since he had always used his poisons in food and drink.
The only sharp item he found was a lowly scalpel. Doc took that out and retied the string. There was also a saw hanging on the outside of the pack, but it looked unwieldy and he hadn't a clue how he would use it. The sounds of fighting behind him increased. Cinnamon was noticeably tense, shuffling and snorting. His ears were pinned to the back of his head, and his tail swished dangerously. The wolfdog was too preoccupied with finding a weapon to notice his signal, and when Doc turned away from him, he was surprised to find that a coyote-jackal with a spiked club was coming toward him. The tiny scalpel he had wasn't any match for that, and he knew it. Doc took one step backward, then unhooked the saw from the pack, and threw it at the club-wielding stranger.
The coyote ducked from the oncoming projectile, giving Doc just enough time to turn and run. His attacker snorted derisively when he saw his retreating form, and gave chase. Old instincts kicked in, ones not used since he was a pup. The wolfdog weaved through the trees, turning this way and that so that his attacker might get confused. He was able to evade his attacker for a minute or two, until he stumbled and fell over after getting his foot stuck beneath a tree root.
The jackal was almost salivating in joy; the chase had only increased his blood lust and predatory instincts. From his position on the ground, Doc could see the shadow of his opponent raise the club high above his head. He pinned his ears back and braced himself for impact, fur standing straight up like a frightened cat.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats came behind them, followed by a piercing equine scream. The jackal glanced behind him to see what was going on, and found himself face-to-face with an enraged donkey. It bite the closest thing to its mouth. Howling and snarling erupted from the jackal, and he twisted so he might focus his club on him instead.
His first inclination was to take his donkey and run, but he thought better of that when he saw the two were going to stand and fight. It would be seen as cowardly to run away now, and not only that - it might actually be safer to be near two warriors. The wolfdog saw their horse escape and wondered if it might be best for him to do the same with his donkey. First, though, he needed a weapon in case one of the attackers spotted him. Doc spent a moment rummaging around in the pack that Cinnamon carried. It contained a variety of poisons and herbs with him, but there was not enough time to smear them on a weapon and use them - not that he was sure that would work since he had always used his poisons in food and drink.
The only sharp item he found was a lowly scalpel. Doc took that out and retied the string. There was also a saw hanging on the outside of the pack, but it looked unwieldy and he hadn't a clue how he would use it. The sounds of fighting behind him increased. Cinnamon was noticeably tense, shuffling and snorting. His ears were pinned to the back of his head, and his tail swished dangerously. The wolfdog was too preoccupied with finding a weapon to notice his signal, and when Doc turned away from him, he was surprised to find that a coyote-jackal with a spiked club was coming toward him. The tiny scalpel he had wasn't any match for that, and he knew it. Doc took one step backward, then unhooked the saw from the pack, and threw it at the club-wielding stranger.
The coyote ducked from the oncoming projectile, giving Doc just enough time to turn and run. His attacker snorted derisively when he saw his retreating form, and gave chase. Old instincts kicked in, ones not used since he was a pup. The wolfdog weaved through the trees, turning this way and that so that his attacker might get confused. He was able to evade his attacker for a minute or two, until he stumbled and fell over after getting his foot stuck beneath a tree root.
The jackal was almost salivating in joy; the chase had only increased his blood lust and predatory instincts. From his position on the ground, Doc could see the shadow of his opponent raise the club high above his head. He pinned his ears back and braced himself for impact, fur standing straight up like a frightened cat.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats came behind them, followed by a piercing equine scream. The jackal glanced behind him to see what was going on, and found himself face-to-face with an enraged donkey. It bite the closest thing to its mouth. Howling and snarling erupted from the jackal, and he twisted so he might focus his club on him instead.