Duck Lake Your heart engages into heartless throes

He struggled as fiercely as he could, but Burr was no fighter. In fact, he had acquired very few advanced skills in his life. He didn't have the patience for hunting, the drive for sparring, or the interest in any named pack role to pursue it. Consequently, Burr's resourcefulness was little more than a withered sapling, and he struggled to formulate a plan under pressure. There was no time for it; his usual go-to manner of thinking failed instantly when Iliksis pressed down on top of him, forcing him into the snow with swift strikes. He didn't know to fight back. He only knew to cower.

There was a split second of opportunity, and amidst the pain and encroaching weariness, Burr tried to take it. He managed to squirm over onto his side, kicking and screaming, and got his feet under him. A surge of relief shot up through his belly, only to be coldly dashed when his assailant seized him by the back of his head. He hardly even had time for his eyes to bulge and for a shriek to build in his throat before his head was wrenched violently to the side with a sharp pop, and suddenly his whole body felt frigidly liquid and out of his control.

He fell to the ground, unable to command a single voluntary muscle in his body, and wheezed through the blinding pain that pummeled his senses. He screamed so loud his throat tore raw and his eyes saw nothing but white. He tried to struggle, but his body was motionless, paralyzed but just beyond the mercy of a quick death from Iliksis' tug.