Denver watched the fight, the noises ringing loudly in his ears; he dared not interfere, lest he cause her to slip up, or the idiot boy to gain an advantage, somehow. Instead, he growled and paced around, following close behind, watching for the first sign of blood. In the background, the drumming of hoofbeats sent his pulse rising.
And then, there was blood. That color was all he saw as he rushed forward, a snarl ripping from his throat in blind rage. Denver felt his fist collide with the man's face once, and then again, knocking the man to the ground with the force. There, one fist continued to pummel at his face. In the other hand, his dagger sought the more tender parts of the wolf's stomach.
The sudden scream of the horse behind him sent a shiver down his spine, and caused him a moment's pause. It was enough for the enemy to retaliate with a well-placed kick and a swipe of his claws, enough for Denver to flinch as he rolled aside. Cursing, he grasped at his groin, trying to blink out the pain as his gaze sought Magnolia in a godless prayer for her safety.
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