Silvertip Mountain thestral

Dragomir's shrieking tore at his throat until it felt raw. It distracted him from the pain of his shredded nape, but only a little. The overwhelming instinct to do whatever was necessary to survive was shoving most of his other senses aside, causing him to thrash on the floor even though the struggle caused him to tear a nail and badly scuff up his legs in the process.

As soon as he was let go, Dragomir was on his feet, driven by adrenaline and fear and that overpowering will to live. He was running to the back of the cavern, desperate to find a tunnel he could escape through. There was only the wall of the cave at the end of his flight, though, studded with hundreds of quartz crystals that may have attracted his attention if not for the circumstances. Dragomir frantically searched the wall for an opening, but there was none to be had.

Heart racing and head swimming from the terrible pain of his injuries—made so much more dramatic by his youth and his inexperience with it—Dragomir whirled around to face his abductors. He could barely make them out. The cavern had a wide mouth that let light spill in, but with rain pouring from a darkened sky, there was no little light to reflect. Flattening his ears and puffing his blood-caked coat up as much as he possibly could, Dragomir bared his teeth at the darkness and growled low in his throat.

It was no use. He could not outrun two fully grown wolves, especially not injured as he was, even if he could get past them. That was incredibly unlikely. But his instincts would not let him go down without a fight, inexperience or no.