Sawtooth Spire Mollusus

He heard voices calling his name and dimly registered faces looming over him as the hubbub began to die down. Yet much as he wanted to respond, Wicked couldn't get his body to cooperate with him; he could not lift his head and could not convince his tongue to move. He just lay there, paralyzed by weakness as the life ebbed from him in a pool of crimson. Eventually, even his vision began to dim around the edges before blackness took over entirely.

As his heartbeat slowed, the last sense to go was smell. He drew in a long breath, filling his lungs for the last time. He smelled his wolves, the coyotes, blood... and smoke. In that final moment, he had a vision of fire engulfing him. Wicked heard his own laughter echoing in his head as he accepted his fate. He would descend into hell, joining the entire Flightless Falcons pack—everyone he had burned to death—particularly his uncles, Perseus and Echo.

The air came out of his lungs in a low whoosh and he grew still—deathly still—as the life left his body.