The Floodlands Don't get hot and flustered

A general cry of loss was heard as Dawson’s mind came to terms with what was happening. In the position he was in, he could not flail, nor throw his body in any way that would have him any fighting chance at survival. It was a cry of knowing death would be coming soon that he was not yet ready for. He had no mate, no spawn- he had done the Odolf name ruin by participating in this gamble. Even behind closed lids, he could see a darkness coming, and his breath increased, heart pounded against a pale set of caging ribs, fighting to figure out how to stop the darkness that speckled and seeped through limbs that no longer wanted to fight as much. He was feeling the seeping happening, and it almost hadn’t registered that the man had bitten him. It was nearly an embrace, a cold one, as this man was given a violently gentle passing into the always open arms of Death. 

Dawson could not ignore the hug...

and it was not long before he hugged back, and released his final sigh into the pale down of the Reaper who had led him there.