Qeya River tight rope

blackfell jumps straight in.

head first into the action, long and strong legs propelling him forth—paws tearing, ripping, across the snow and sleet ground, exploding from the brush he had remained hid within. running angular of the stag, charging through the snow as it became knee deep, likewise slowing the heavy prey animal down.

the wolves, though, were able to drive through it with agile ease.

blackfell jumps into his peripheral, jaws snapping open, aimed for the jugular—a clean shot, save for the unexpected and sudden swing of the beasts rack. scoring a gash straight across the left side of blackfell's face in a curved arc, splitting open flesh, bleeding his face with wet, stinging hot blood. but adrenaline roars through the man and he is not deterred, pushing through the stinging pain and sinking piercing canines and molar against thick hide and fat.

the bull's breath billows from flaring nostrils and agape mouth as it bellows into the morning sky.