Sleeping Dragon death doesn't descriminate between the sinners and the saints

*giggle*

 
Cirrus watched her carefully. She turned, gazing outside at something unseen to him and moved off a-ways. His wavy fur in disarray, he took the moment of ignorance to check over his front paw. The bitch. He already felt like his back legs had been stretched on a rack, thanks to his being pulled from underneath the stupid mountain-wolf - now he had a completely snapped front leg. So basically he was screwed.
 
A howl deafened his ears and he glared at his companion as she called for backup. Momentarily he wondered if she had changed her mind about killing him, but then she returned back to him and spoke. Cirrus listened with resignation, thoughts of his sister flooding his mind. She was nothing like this callous crow, his beautiful Angel. Some wolves had pack-names he had realised, but he and his siblings had only been given one. It was his last vestige of freedom.

With his face twisted in pain, Cirrus answered nearly immediately with a short, clipped tone: "Name's Storm." He didn't have the capacity to think much further afield right now, but damned if he was giving his one name - his freedom - to her.