Lion Head Mesa a-weema-weh

the situation kept getting more perplexing. the girl did not run—not really—only baring her teeth at surya, and the cat was hot on his heels. he gave her a shattered look before the impact; he couldn't understand. what was she doing? why didn't she run?

it was like being stuffed into a paper shredder (though surya wouldn't know it). a heavy weight, squeezing, claws ripping, tearing. his maw was forced against the ground; he bit his tongue; he tasted blood.

and blood welled out beneath him, and every bone ached. searing pain rippled through his body, the likes of which he'd never felt before. he could not even draw breath to cry for help. every nerve and muscle were focused intently on his survival—the chances of which were dwindling with each passing second.

surya fought back, but his counterblows grew more and more feeble. he was fading.