Hoshor Plains run rabbit run

Inspiration drawn from this post.

Redshank’s battle cry and Rannoch’s angry bellowing fell on deaf ears.

Cypress’ world was narrowed down to one thing: the enemy.

The normally taciturn raven continued his verbal assault, making as much noise as possible to draw the bear’s attention away from his family. He spotted the stragglers out of the corner of his eye but didn’t react outwardly. Inside him, something grew cold and still. If he was going to die, it only seemed fitting that he would go the way his mother had gone — and, unbeknownst to him, for the same reason. Time superimposed itself, and it was Eshe’s spirit that shaped her son’s stygian features: he snapped at the bear, lips peeled backward and a snarl full of loathing emanating from his chest. There was a tragic symmetry in his furiously flickering golden eyes that no wolf present would be able to appreciate. You hurt my family, Eshe had thought, and you hurt my family, Cypress now thought, for all bears were one and the same, unceremoniously lumped together in one opposing faction that flew a banner of death and devastation.

That being said, Cypress was determined that he would not die without first ensuring that Rannoch, Rian, and the pack would be safe. He felt, in this moment, that he could run forever if it proved necessary, luring the behemoth further and further from everything they held dear. He felt that, believed it even as the monster charged him — and he backpedaled and whipped around in one fluid motion, mindful of the fangs and the claws. Though he narrowly avoided being sliced wide open, the air was battered forcibly from his lungs as the heel of the bear’s paw slammed into his ribs like a speeding train. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced, and he landed shakily, his weight listing weakly to the side. A quick glance told him that Titmouse and Redshank were in the process of being whisked out of harm’s way — that Liffey and the rest of the pack were making a clean escape — and that Rannoch was with him now, engaging in combat.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

Cypress recovered neatly, the hard landing and quick assessment occurring in milliseconds, and leapt again. After the initial burst of agony, adrenaline had swept in full force, dulling his pain receptors and making him reckless. It was a berserker-like rage that inhabited his young, lean body as he feinted, taking the opportunity Rannoch had provided to sweep around and assault the bear with another volley of deliberately high-pitched, annoying barks. He lunged in, lunged away. “I’m faster than you,” he bluntly reminded his brother and alpha in a low hiss, panting raggedly. “I’ll catch up with you — you have to be the one to lead them, Rannoch! I’ll catch up to you, but I’m not running until I know you’re safe.” Cypress was being stubborn, and Rannoch would see that his brother paid for it later if they lived through this, but stubbornness was what had kept Cypress alive. It was all he knew. “Please!” he cried. “I’m begging you, Noch. Please trust me.” He darted away, then swept in, trying to keep the bear’s attention with a swift nip to the hamstring.