Shadewood on the altar of a sunrise

Fading here!

The boy had never been a warrior, much as he had once dreamed for such a life. At least in this instance he wasn't cowering and pissing himself - but there wasn't much he could do besides snap his teeth, move as deftly as his awkward body allowed, and try to keep the attention of the monstrous cat away from Niamh. There was no rhyme nor reason to his movements. No real reason for him to defend someone that had already written him off, except - even in the heat of the chaos, Mou wished he could be better, and save her for old time's sake.

The cougar advanced upon Niamh and as Mou dodged one half-hearted swing, he saw it descend upon her position. The only plausible option was to charge towards the cat and bare his own teeth; no warning from his silenced throat of an impending assault, not that it would matter. The cat would feel the slice of his teeth and the pressure of his grip, and as pain coursed its body, the beast's intent was focused upon the ghost.

He held on for as long as he could, then bit again, again, again, and the cat began to yowl; its retaliation would be swift, but solely focused on Titmouse. He felt claws digging in to his flesh and the white-hot permanence of wounds he was unfit to mend; there was blood, there was pain, but there was also the stomping of his feet as he taunted and tortured the beast and lured it off in to the dark of the woods.