The Sentinels forge me a blade

Just as soon as the fight had begun, it had drawn to a short conclusion. Embry hadn't noticed that the ferocious wolf had relented, nor had he, in the depths of his frenzy, believed that he ever would. Now, flanks heaving and ears searching for anything more than the mere sound of heavy breaths and distant shores, he found himself staring at this broken brute before him.

The sight was humbling. He stood and, wincing at the surge of nausea that followed, assessed the damage. His injuries were not so severe, but the wounds were deep enough that they would need attention and, perhaps, might never quite heal to perfection. That was fine. The fight had been worth it, after all, to shock him back into reality. 

He glared at the stranger, but said no more. His body was beaten and ebbing of energy. He turned, slowly, and shook his head; never letting his gaze slip from the combatant as he moved. The fool was a pyschopath, Embry resolved. Why else would he have attacked on no means of evidence? And who the hell was this Aure he had just... Saved? Protected? Assisted? He didn't even know. 

With a sigh of relief, he exited the scene; leaving behind whatever had just happened with a newfound knowledge of the world's strange ways.