Lone Star Mountain graustufen

though every coal crafted to form this sable beast begged for dismay from any would-be challenger, stigmata readily gave as well as he was received - feeling the lingering glissade of tension fall away like silk curtains - and he stilled alongside him, thoughts undivided. this felt as natural to him as breathing - as if standing parallel to this dark monolith had awakened some primal flesh-memory - and he felt transported back to the drenchwood: where he stood among other sandraudigas and a collection of wolves he had once hailed his brothers-in-arms.

only the clash of other titans, and the prospect of a meal, could draw stigmata from examining the chambers of the ashmarked wolf's gaze; which in this moon-rinsed dark appeared to be a captivating doublet of hard lavender gems, glimmering palely from the far ends of a long, shadowy corridor.

they both turned alertly towards the rams, then - reacting to the purest elements of their pack animals core - the two predators synchronized their efforts without a single note shared, and aimed to capitalize on their prey's weaknesses as good sense and instinct dictated.

a shield of thorns like thunder from the right; a jagged smoke-spear like lightning from the left; the already stalled ram had no option but to sustain grievous injury from both sides, though it struggled valiantly to shake its pursuers and lead them on a blood-soaked chase, heaving up the mountain. stigmata stood back and licked his chops, eyes wicked with adrenaline despite his upright poise.

the ram would kill itself, exhausting its body of blood, literally fighting an uphill battle.