Deepwood Weald Fruit punch

the bear could not move at risk of endangering her cubs, their locations; but she heard them climb to escape. perhaps the wolves would think it the witches magic that caused a branch to fall upon the motherbears head just as the beastly wolf with the skeleton markings came for her throat. dazed! she could not avoid it! and then the other was there, her chest burned from the pain of his bite. in a last ditch effort, the bear sought to move with them upon her toward a tree, as though she herself would climb it--but their weight, combined, was too much, and her energy had depleted. the seawolfs mark had been true, and his brother in arms made mobility near impossible. she could not reach them with a swipe, and her vision was fogging...

she slumped forward, the fullness of her weight falling upon both her assailants. she could not breathe, and the motherbear wished that they, if even for a moment, could not breathe. more likely than not they would know to avoid it, but her thoughts were not with her. my children are safe. my children are safe.