Artok had fought until he couldn't anymore. Until his white pelt was covered in blood and mud and bile. He didn't know what was his and what wasn't, and his chest felt tight. The muscles in his shoulder completely useless. It hung there, his leg like a dead thing. He limped away from it all. And fell to his side.
Golden eyes wide staring. He tried to get back up, but the old man was tired. Tired and Broken. Through filmy eyes he watched as his home was looted, and plundered and robbed and he remembered the words from the little girl Dwin.
who has the right then? the one, who starts or the one who gets attacked.
And he had no answer for her. He didn't then and he didn't now, but what he did know was darkness was pressing on his eyes and there was blood staining the ground. And the old man slipped into a sleep that he'd not wake from. The only sound was his last wheeze as it slipped past blood stained teeth and lips.
Golden eyes wide staring. He tried to get back up, but the old man was tired. Tired and Broken. Through filmy eyes he watched as his home was looted, and plundered and robbed and he remembered the words from the little girl Dwin.
who has the right then? the one, who starts or the one who gets attacked.
And he had no answer for her. He didn't then and he didn't now, but what he did know was darkness was pressing on his eyes and there was blood staining the ground. And the old man slipped into a sleep that he'd not wake from. The only sound was his last wheeze as it slipped past blood stained teeth and lips.
Artok has a permanent limp in his front right foreleg.
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