Tormented Tarns “Doin’ my Spooky Boopy dance, tonight.”

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His jaws closed on empty air as his body tumbled. His jaw smacked the rock, the noise cracking in his head. The jeer fell on deaf ears, the scamper to freedom barely registered.
Derg had accepted his loss.

The man lay, his quarry escaped and gone. His blood pooled from the rip in his face. He lay prone for some time before, eventually, deciding to rise and leave the putrid hole.
His face stung and throbbed, his pride shattered; his very bones feeling the wear and tear of the battle.
He was no longer a warrior, and he accepted it. 
It would be a long time before he made it back to Grezig.

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