silver is the grip on the helping hand

The reindeer struggled under him, kicking and thrashing. He could feel his heart in his throat, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He allowed himself a toothy grin as he reached the crest of the deer's head, pulling himself over its neck. The prey animal shook as a blow struck its belly. It was dying, and it knew it. It let out a plaintive bleat, and then Bylgjas next strike brought it to its knees. Strai almost fell at the sudden movement, his back legs swinging wildly free. He dug his teeth into its neck, pulling himself back on the deer until he could reach down and latch his teeth to its throat.


He ripped, and suddenly he was drenched in a spray or blood, and the deer crashed down. His victory was short lived as its heavy head pinned him to the earth with enough force to drive his breath from his lungs. He drew in some desperate lung fills, panic causing him to thrash.