Neverwinter Forest up in smoke

His apology might've been meek, but it was heartfelt too. It felt on deaf ears either way and would be forgotten in the long run. They did not care for him and he did not expect them to, but to show some mercy — especially when he had done nothing wrong and had already been punished according to their distorted sense of justice — seemed only fair. But nothing about this was fair.

It was Sorina's voice that broke through next; she made her own demands, lifted her voice in opposition as if it had any weight at all, and Hydra cut her down with a few chilling words. Screech did not want more enemies. He wanted this to be over and he wanted to go home; however, there was no bringing the pale girl back from death and these wolves of Moonspear were going to exact more than their pound of flesh if he didn't stand up for himself. Sorina, in a way, was right (but he'd never say that).

The elder dark wolf - the one who had him staring fearfully in to the space between his body and the next, this malevolent force composed of righteous fury and hurt - she spoke and gave him one last caveat; then she threw herself at him with jaws gaping, and the trembling pissbaby that was Screech let out a pitiful sound, collapsing backwards. The woman was going for his throat and he had no chance in hell to evade it — not unless he ran, or —

Screech didn't think, but he reacted. The woman's teeth grazed at his neck and he turned his head to snap back, squealing from the pain as something caught in his silver scruff and he felt the flesh rip; but he also tasted blood, felt the thud of his teeth hitting bone, his smaller body shoulder-checking her more practiced dark one. His motions were fevered while she was fluid — all that Screech wanted was to live and he would not let these black-furred bitches take anything else from him.

The boy reacted — there was blood — but there, somewhere inside of him, he felt a certain strength beneath the shock of adrenaline. His spine grew three sizes that day; but in the end he was only trying to fight back enough to be free, and at the first opportunity he threw himself towards the trees and tried to get the fuck outta there.

All of it was ugly, and she cared less and less. Over the ongoing cacophony from the stranger, he shrieked, and she didn't bother to stop any. It was for fleeing the scene before she could even make it to the slopes to chase him down properly then. For whatever he had done, or had not, his timing had been his only saving grace that day and perhaps even this one. She let it be and continued forward if he resisted, only doubling down with any momentum she could bring onto an offense meant to bite and shred whatever she could reach from his neck to his scruff. Grazing him, or tearing asunder, she only hoped to give him something else to remember them by.. since evidently, the work of her daughter's maiming him wasn't good enough. She wanted to add her own touches if that was how it was.

A fresh lick of fury kept urging her on when she felt his teeth on her, and immediately, she wrenched free by shoving him off--away, like the poison his family was. She would tolerate the wound it would leave, cut just behind her right side shoulder, and hoped he'd fester. To enforce her point as she simultaneously whirled from his reach then back towards the gray yearling anew; she snapped her bloodied lips and herded him off away from her with more ruthless bites and razored hackles. She would not have his reckless Redhawk blood cost her the lives of daughters not even born yet, so today, she only would only chase if he would only get the hint and flee before she had to kill him as a courtesy like the pest he was.

When he finally did get up and out of there, she gave him the head start and lunged after him to drive it home until she lost interest.. and the forest ended, where her reach of the wilderness grew less clear. He could disappear after that for all she cared. Here, right now, he only had to stay away while they got this done with here. His would come another day.. she had faith in this. Something about his suffering seemed so mandatory by now that she didn't want it to end so soon, though, and they still had the random bitch who seemed to like to scream about him to deal with. Presumably, Hydra had done much of that so far.

Panting, she slowed up, and realized how bloodied her side was by now. The pain was so faraway. She didn't feel more than the sorrowful, contradicting, rage he earned right now as he ran.

Sorina paid little attention to either of the dark masses—her focus lingered on the boy. She didn’t want to help him—who in their right mind would throw themselves in front of teeth to save some guy?—but she also didn’t want to leave him to die; despite how hateful she was, she actually enjoyed seeing him—well, arguing with him, but same difference, right? But perhaps he didn’t feel the same, which she decided was a fact of life the second he bolted. Wide-eyed, she watched him go with the dark one on his tail, silently fuming. How dare he just leave?! Was he born without a spine?