Blacktail Deer Plateau & she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy’s eyes

Everything was falling apart.

The Huntsman's limbs staggered back, the two wolves against him began to press him to the plateau, in his aid. As soon as his dove had steadied herself, she came barreling toward his throat. Alarms flashed in his head, and he decided he wasn't so eager to be near the edge. Her thin needles stabbed into his neck while the ghost relinquished his grip to someplace far more soft—the Shadow's thigh.

Dennan nearly buckled, pain like electricity sparking up his hip and down to his back paw. Another monstrous roar escaped his ragged throat, red eyes tearing down to her—Aure. The pure hatred and determination on her face half shocked him, terrified him, and half enlightened him. No more was he hunting a child. He was hunting a—

The collective of the ghost's hungry jaws and Aurëwen's savage tug—the ground beneath him disappeared to the wind. Tea eyes wide in horror, he gasped. The she-wolf snapped him down and tossed any of his upper body that may have been clinging to rock to meet the colored sky alongside its clouds. His claws raked for her shoulder, horror and hesitant desperation written upon his face in the form of a half-hearted snarl.



When you fall, some say it's similar to flying. Not to the Wraith, The Huntsman, The Priest, The Botanist, and White Shadow; the one who had lived over the lives of many... As his back collided into the far rocks below, he rejected them; the ones who have told him falling feels like flying. As the blood gurgled out his throat, all that came to his darkening vision was the sky—


E v e r y t h i n g.  W a s.  F a l l i n g.  A p a r t.