The cracking of his ribs left Tal short of breath and in agony. Every breath was torture. He struggled to get away, he just wanted to get away, get back to the pack. Somehow he managed to slip out from under the rusted male. He was on his feet and running, up until a weight slammed into him from behind. His vision grayed from the pain. The scholar bit his lip to keep from passing out, then wished he hadn't. Liam's weight was crushing the breath from his lungs, and the hands around his throat didn't help. His face ground into the dirt below him, hot from the nearness of the fire, and he hoped he wouldn't be joining the mystery wolf in the fire.
As he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the lack of heat. He blinked the dirt from his eyes, slowly lifting his head, his breath coming in short pained gasps. The fire Liam had was long gone, the embers and ashes cold. The scorched skull leered knowingly at him. He laid there for a moment, his gaze drifting into the distance. He was alive. He was in pain, but he was alive. Liam had the chance to kill him, and he hadn't. Tal didn't know whether to be grateful or sad about the entire situation.
He began to sit up, noticing the assorted cuts on his arms, and the sore throat. He climbed to his feet, pausing as the world tilted under his feet. He needed to make it back to D'Arte.
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