Redsand Canyon Such a dark destiny

None of his struggling movements seemed to meet their mark. Crowfeather yipped and churned with frustration and fear, fighting against the white tyrant of a wolf that towered over him. Her fangs were so sharp on his skin. The Saints’ leader tore through his flesh with ease, snapping his leg until it had broken and moving to the remainder of his figure.

By the time her teeth had found his neck, the pain had overtaken him. Crowfeather coughed blood into the back of his throat, looking fearfully up to the indomitable white monster.

This was it, then… this was dying.

Crowfeather smiled, knowing that the Saints would fall. They were just one pack, and the actions of their leader were rash and heartless. She did not act for anyone but herself. Ursus, Akashingo, perhaps even the wolves of Redhawk Caldera and Brecheliant would lend their fangs to the cause. The Saints would not survive a war of four clans against their one.

Darkness crept into his vision, and he slipped away from the world at last.

On the mountain he bled until his breath fell in weightless little gasps. Crowfeather did not stir from that place. His body had been broken.