Shadewood on the altar of a sunrise

He wished he could say more. Maybe in appealing to the goodness within Niamh, in spilling the truth of how deeply he loved another, he could prevent his own execution. What kind of heart did she have? What kind of person did she grow up to become - that he helped create, in some backwards way? She continued to stalk towards him and when she spoke (her words dripping with an early winter's chill) he knew the truth: Niamh had stopped being his friend long ago, and would never see him as anything but a monster, ever again. He was doomed if he did not run from her now - yet - he chose to stand there as she made her lunge. In that last split-second before all hell broke loose, he even began to lift his chin.

The shriek of something unholy rendered the moment obsolete; the wolves froze in their pantomime and moved in tandem with their bodies as they tried to out maneuver the oncoming danger, regardless of what it was. Like old times, almost. Titmouse felt his lips curl in a snarl of gasps, all the intention and none of the bass to back it up - and there was Niamh beside him, defensive and afraid, until she turned those bared fangs upon him. Whatever her role was meant to be was disrupted by this giant cat, this monstrous creature far more terrifying than the withered husk of a wolf that Titmouse had become.

Yet still, Niamh chose to strike at him. To nip at his nearness. A piece of his old self was still locked away somewhere in his pale shell; he felt the desperate need to run, as he often used to from his problems. He began to stalk away from Niamh's teeth with stiff, purposeful strides. Instead of leaving - which could've saved Niamh if the cougar was really invested in the sickly looking ghost out of the pair of them - he gave one last pathetic look to the golden woman, and charged towards the cat.

It was likely the last thing any of them expected, but it got the cat's attention. For all his faults and his damages Titmouse knew he couldn't sacrifice someone like Niamh - nor the friendship they had in ages past - for the sake of his own survival. He might've been a monster, but he could make at least one choice for the betterment of another life. As the pale man lunged towards the cat he was surprisingly fluid, graceful save for the hitch in his gait; the cat didn't react for what felt like a long time, only to side-step away from the pair of wolves and then swipe with an eager fist towards his approaching shape.

It was Niamh's chance to escape.