Ouroboros Spine trouble come knockin'

a yelp rings through the bitter cold air, thick with unease and tension. he struggles beneath the man's weight, his eyes wide and whale-eyed as he thrashes, squirms, pushes—anything to try and save himself. 

and then the teeth are gone, and so is the weight that was pinning him down. he rasps, now that he can actually breathe, and scrambles to his shaky feet. his heart is a heavy, uneven cadence in his chest, thundering in his ribcage. 

he cowers, as he's always done. for gods sake, he isn't a fighter! never has been, even with the rigorous amounts of training and pitiful spars his father forced him into. he wasn't made of tempered steel and violence, he didn't want to shed blood.

why are wolves so cruel? why wasn't he stronger? 

blood stains his cheek. a drop falls to stain the snow beneath him, and he stares at it, his stomach reeling. 

"i don't even know who you are!" he cried, his hackles raised and withers ruffled. his tail tucked between his legs. "stars, no one sent me! i just—i'm—" the words get caught in his throat, his pitch cracking under the weight of his fear. 

"i'm not going to fight you. please, just stop." whatever demons that were so obviously haunting this man, lorroakan had nothing to do with them.