Whitebark Stream I'm swept up by the shape of all the centuries

The beast was swiftly surrounded, trapped. She was attacked from all angles, weighted by numerous sets of predator fangs that prevented her from fleeing while another set to work on tearing the flesh of her abdomen.

Legs flailed toward her captors, and Artyom spotted Dawn move in to cover a flank. It happened so fast: their prey struck, a well-aimed kick delivered to the sterling leaders chest. Artyom thought to let go, run to her, but she was quick to recover and assume position.

When at last the doe had fallen, the golden ranger turned his attention to the throat. He slackened his hold to deliver another, shifting to apply pressure in an area that would deliver a quicker demise through suffocation.

Bloodied and satisfied to feel the life drain from a creature that would fill the bellies of their pack, Artyom released following Dawn's announcement of their kill. He circled around the group to attend his mate, moving in close to nose tenderly to her platinum brow, pressing a concerned kiss above an eye that left a small streak of red. "Are you okay?" Artyom asked, gaze alert for any sign of a wound as he moved, almost frantic in his search as he scrutinised the area where he'd seen contact made; "are you hurt?" He'd lost Ana to an injury following a hunt the year prior, and was not sure he could live with the guilt of seeing Dawn face a similar fate.