Bearclaw Valley some kind of nature, some kind of soul

He opened his eyes; one was blinded by incoming light whist the other froze in the snow. His side lifted in one slow, drawn out motion again and again until it fell into a steady pace.

The first thought he had was move, but he was swiftly reminded of the situation as he squirmed in place. His leg, that precious thing he took for granted, gone. Plucked from his body by a scavenger he'd probably never see again. How pathetic was that? This was all the girl's fault, Valour's fault, Vengeance's fault. He'd find them soon and he'd make them suffer, but that day was not today.

Today Orochi was a lame piece of meat surrounded by hungry wolves. Their footsteps and voices were muffled by the blood rushing through his ears. His voice was too weak to tell them off, so he opted for a low, guttural growl.