Bramblepoint The view from halfway down

A splash of red on the foliage and some orange fur was all that was left of the tiger as it retreated. The sound of rustling leaves faded… and then a hushed quiet, like a solemn church service, fell over Bramblepoint.

Njord’s fighting high quickly drained from his veins. New injuries, that he hadn’t felt upon contact, made his brain buzz in pain. He looked around for his daughter, but there was no sign of her or the pale warrior. Had she run? Had he spirited her away?

Njord, fearing the worst, began to locate Seal’s trail… but the sound of a wounded animal caused his attention to turn.

The fourth wolf, Bronco, was crumbled in a heap looking a bad way. Sunlight caught the side of his face and illuminated its bloody pulp. It was like Deja Vu. Njord hobbled to his aide as his gaze trailed the long, parallel marks the tiger had left upon the warrior’s body.

“Hang in there, son.” Son. A Freudian slip let the word escape. Njord was no doctor, but it was easy to tell that the cedar-colored man might not make it. He quickly began to gather moss. Pressure would need to be applied. An urgent feeling made the redtail’s stomach twist. He wanted to leave and find Seal.