Otatso Wetlands Break free and leave us in ruins

Too late then, for Stag — who an hour before would have never believed his strike against Mahler possible — who had never envisioned drawing blood from his once-general, his father, his idol. 

And yet here his fangs were sent, drawing their pound of flesh across Mahler’s haunch. Wylla was somewhere behind him — still, no doubt in shock for his insolence. Stag’s eyes widened, belatedly horrified — but too late, too late now to go back. 

Now came his burning defeat, his height of humiliation— for Mahler made quick work of the insolent pup beneath his teeth. Stag was countered immediately, forced down to the ground as a string of painful teeth fell across his muzzle. 

No yelp, no snarl in rebuke — just the sudden gasp of a wolf handily slapped across the face, who now breathed only because Mahler willed it.