Blackfoot Forest battle

he surged ahead, nose to the ground, following the sickly tang of blood mingled with the frost. “he will not,” gjalla snapped, quickening her own pace to match his. she had no doubt, only faith, as if sheer will alone would keep stark breathing until she had her teeth around his throat.

the blood trail was sharp against the snow, jagged stretches of red over white. her lips curled into a snarl, baring teeth that glinted in the dim light filtering through the trees. “if he bleeds out before we get to him,” she hissed, “i will rip his spirit from the hells myself so we may send him back.”

stark had to survive, if only so she could feel the life drain from his body by her own paw. feel his last breath between her teeth.