What was lost

He bristled more at that, taking another step back. Not because he was afraid of her, but because he needed room to work. He bent his head down, snapping the strap around his wrist as fast as he could, expecting her to attack him at any moment. But she was stepping closer, bristling at him, telling him to put it back. “I won't” He swore, not after he had come all this way. His fur was still black and stinky, he would have to take a freezing winter swim to rid himself of the dry mud. The knife was right there, the taste of it still on his tongue. He wouldn’t give it up again.

“Over my dead body” he snarled at her. He didn’t back up any further. Not now that dagger was strapped to his leg. Where it fit perfectly, as if it was made for him. Funny that. He didn’t start the fight, he wouldn’t be the one to do that, but he wouldn’t walk out of here empty handed, he would rather die than give up this last piece of his heritage, his life again.


"Speech"