Broken Boulder but if i'm never your hero, i can never let you down

He hears someone approach, but he doesn't turn to look; the scent tells him a moment later anyway, and the knowledge twists in his chest like a red-hot knife. He doesn't expect to be greeted as a friend — and he doesn't have time to expect anything more, because in a moment the wolfdog is launching toward him with fangs flashing. The impact leaves him breathless and dizzy, but that's all he feels.
It's as if a switch has been flipped — the lights turned out. There's no fear, there's no pain. He does nothing to resist Ulf's attack, whatever it might entail — he can't feel it anyway. There's no sound or sensation, no thought or emotion. It only lasts a few seconds.
And then he's face-first in the cold, slightly-loose dirt over his sister's grave, aching in so many different ways it's impossible to separate it all. There's dirt in his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He chokes on it for a moment, but fear quiets his coughing quickly. Something he can't explain compels him to be as quiet as possible — to let Ulf do whatever he will without a fight. Maybe because he knows he deserves it; maybe because he secretly hopes the wolfdog will kill him. Sure, there are others who deserve to kill him more — but if the job gets done, who can complain?