Ankyra Sound [m] burn it down

Five seconds was all it took.

One. The fog in Ephraim's head thickened. The muscles in his jaw momentarily clenched, then released. His biological imperative urged him to relinquish his hold on Sobeille and made him forget that maintaining it was a matter of life or death. The chemical flood in his brain convinced him that there were more important matters.

Two. The sharp remembrance of pain as Sobeille's teeth came free from his leg. Blood poured freely from the deep wound, red rivulets crisscrossing through fur to mix with saltwater and sand below. Ephraim hissed low in his throat and leaned his weight the other way, favoring the injured limb, which hung at an odd cant.

Three. The impressive shape of Sobeille's back as she coiled and sprang, and the feel of her colliding with his chest, this time to bludgeon the same injured side. Ephraim lost his tenuous footing and staggered backward with an agonized yelp, leaving an opening into which her scarred muzzle disappeared.

Four. The deadly pinch of teeth at his throat, and then the world crashing to a halt. Ephraim's breath hitched with a shocked gasp. Every muscle in his body seized with the urge to run, but there was no getting out of this. One move and his life would spill to the ground between her paws.

Five. Everything went slack: his ears drooped downward, his tail shot up between his legs, his hindquarters bowed of their own accord. Ephraim's eyes were wide and rimmed in fearful white as they slid away from Sobeille. His shoulders were the only thing that remained tense, aching from the strain of being held at knifepoint. Ephraim exhaled with a small, shuddering, submissive whine.

Five seconds. The next would decide his fate.