Bramblepoint i always dream of electric sheep

July was certainly powerful enough to wrench himself free of the grasping branches and clinging burrs, but he was trying his best to escape with as much of his fur intact as he could. So far that task was proving fruitless, and as his impatience and frustration mounted at the ineffectiveness of his gentle prying, the wolf turned quickly to other tactics. Soon enough he was full-on thrashing in his attempt to fall free of the brambles, and the noise was enough to clear the area within a mile radius of any prey that might've been there.

He was severely unaware of his company, which was probably for the best; the last thing he needed was a helping of embarrassment on top of his full course struggle. July lurched free suddenly, leaving behind thick tufts of pale fur to decorate the bush like faux christmas cotton. A long, witchy branch tendril clung to his rump, as if to pull him back into the hedge, but the yearling didn't notice it as he concentrated instead on trying to reach a painfully lodged bramble buried hatefully into his left shoulder.