Whitebark Stream don't corner me

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— he flinches—visibly—ears flattening hard against his skull, tail curling low. for a split second, his legs don’t move at all. just twitch, locked between fight and flight. the man's voice is booming and rattles him to his very core.

don’t fucking touch me! his teeth clack, pallid tongue flicking across his teeth. but he's tired, so tired, and can hardly think to put up much of a fight. and not against this... behemoth!

the question makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t answer it. clayfall lifts his chin—defiant. jaw clenching, teeth gnashing, his breath ragged. he lashes out. snapping his teeth, hackles bristling.

he will bolt at any second.