Panther Park white winter hymnal

;___;

His limbs lashed out and met their mark; the stupid man had made it so easy. The beast was so used to his foes evading his hooves, like poison-tipped bayonets, feinting away and coming around again. This creature skipped the entire first part completely and went right towards him, knocking the tiny pale one out of [unintentional] victimhood. She went out of range and he came into range, so  Marlowe’s strong strikes fell upon him, in quick succession. 

Thud, thud. 

The roaring beast knew he had made contact but could not acknowledge where the blows had been placed. Marlowe had been blinded, his vision darkened further and further until he could not tell the emptiness from the dark fur of his victim. He was not prey in that moment, cursed to live in fear, but a predator: capable of maiming and injuring and killing. The pure power that pulsed through his body matched his raging breath, heaving and pulling to feed his rippling body with oxygen. 

Marlowe prepared to rise again and lash out but as the berserker came to, his vision regained structure and he saw the crumpled form of the wolf — nay, cub — below him. It was unmoving, both literally and figuratively. The shewolf, shrouded in mist, appeared to be stupefied with fear. She posed to threat to his harem, who by now had reconvened from the scene of the crime. There had been one casualty, one of his elder wives who had fallen ill, but Marlowe felt no grief. He was a vengeful man, but not an evil one. Instead of finishing the black brute Marlowe sneered at the shewolf, flaring his lips and probing her with his distinctive gaze. Yes, the two had slain another member of his harem… but at what cost to them?

It had been well about time for their comeuppance!

His women and offspring were safe and so Marlowe’s visceral need to protect abated.  His legs already begun to ache, as they were not intended for combat. No, that’s what his impressive rack was for; but antlers provided little protection from the groupthink of the wolf. He had been lucky that there had only been two assailants [and that one seemed to pose no threat at all], but Marlowe had impressed himself that day,so he raised his read regally and with some semblance of pomp and bravado, strut away from the star-crossed lovers to rejoin his own.