He tasted blood.
Pain flared in his ribs when, on long-honed instinct, he tried to raise an arm. He meant to gesture to the referee that he was beaten, but the clumsy paw that reached out had no such flexibility.
Samo’s eyes snapped open.
He was alone. Injured, but alone. Instead of tanned and scarred arms, he saw a beast’s hairy limbs. He ran his tongue over long, jagged teeth. Instead of a jeering crowd, the tall, imposing shapes of pine trees surrounded him. Above, he heard the high-pitched twittering of siskins. No hot, baking sun burned into his skin; instead, cool dappled shadows crossed his russet fur.
Tentatively, he reached with one paw to rub his forehead. Something cold and bitter sank into him at the unmistakable roughness of scarred skin. So even beasts were still marked.
With a silent snarl on his lips, the wolf limped to his feet. He could still feel blood drying on his back and sides. Gingerly, slowly, he limped onwards. He heard the burbling sound of a stream up ahead; perhaps he might wash his wounds there.
Still, he was cautious. Ears perked for any sign of his old masters, he moved slowly among the cool, sparse undergrowth. He did not know if they would recognize him in this form, but he was not keen to find out.
As he approached the riverbank, however, he realized that he was not the only beast here. A strange scent he somehow recognized as wolf greeted him, and he stopped where he was, body held low to the ground.
Tskani
Pain flared in his ribs when, on long-honed instinct, he tried to raise an arm. He meant to gesture to the referee that he was beaten, but the clumsy paw that reached out had no such flexibility.
Samo’s eyes snapped open.
He was alone. Injured, but alone. Instead of tanned and scarred arms, he saw a beast’s hairy limbs. He ran his tongue over long, jagged teeth. Instead of a jeering crowd, the tall, imposing shapes of pine trees surrounded him. Above, he heard the high-pitched twittering of siskins. No hot, baking sun burned into his skin; instead, cool dappled shadows crossed his russet fur.
Tentatively, he reached with one paw to rub his forehead. Something cold and bitter sank into him at the unmistakable roughness of scarred skin. So even beasts were still marked.
With a silent snarl on his lips, the wolf limped to his feet. He could still feel blood drying on his back and sides. Gingerly, slowly, he limped onwards. He heard the burbling sound of a stream up ahead; perhaps he might wash his wounds there.
Still, he was cautious. Ears perked for any sign of his old masters, he moved slowly among the cool, sparse undergrowth. He did not know if they would recognize him in this form, but he was not keen to find out.
As he approached the riverbank, however, he realized that he was not the only beast here. A strange scent he somehow recognized as wolf greeted him, and he stopped where he was, body held low to the ground.
Tskani