Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

don't turn around...

don't stop....

kitsune's lungs burned, each breath unsatisfying as he takes it, muscles in his legs aching from the sudden burst of exertion as he continues to push himself: slowly to his limits like the steady but true buildup of suspension.

he knows what will happen if he's caught by the hellhound. will-o'-wisp or not seemed hardly to matter and that kijo blood and the supposed magic it held? where was it now? the first lunge that the hellhound makes misses kitsune by a hairsbreadth — he could feel the other male's hot breath skirting against the tendrils of his fur.

the rush of adrenaline is a blessed boost of speed but it makes him jittery and the second time the hellhound grabs for him, he finds purchase. the pierce of flesh into teeth is heard before its felt — and then the rushing hot pain comes in. kitsune lets out a half snarl, half yelp.

puh-please... let his ancestors see him beg for his life — what choice did they leave him? neither them nor the so-called magic in his veins help him. please, he simpers. don't kill me. pathetic. i'll do anything! anything you want.