Please?

He'd been a fool. A stupid, stupid fool. He should've stayed back in Seracia to guard the pack instead of running off to try and help the warriors. He was five years old now, nearing six. He was no longer in his prime. Age was beginning to catch up with him. He had never been in a serious fight in his life. The only thing remotely close to a fight was when he'd helped King Gerhardt and the ex Glaciem woman Crusade hunt down the bull that had been terrorizing Seracia. But he had had back up in that instance. He hadn't had back up in that fight; the yearling that had come to aid him was of no help. He had been a damn fool thinking he could hold his own in a fight. He was hurt now; how badly he wasn't sure. There was blood everywhere. He could feel it pouring from what felt like every pore in his body. His body was screaming at him to just give up, to lie down somewhere and allow his body to rest...maybe forever. But when that thought crossed his mind, a face appeared before his eyes; Pacifica. If he was going to die, he at least wanted to see her face one more time.


And so the injured Grand Duke had dragged himself from the battlefield towards Seracia, each step agonizing, jaws clenched tightly in order to keep from crying out. He was sure that he was leaving a bloody trail behind him, but he didn't care. He needed to get to the silver traced woman before his body gave out on him. She seemed to have been feeling the same way because he hadn't gotten even half way into Seracia when he caught her scent. It called to him, beckoned him towards her and the man could not refuse. With pained steps, Pontifex would adjust his course so that he was moving towards her, desperate golden gaze searching the foliage for the grey figure. There! Just at the edge of a line of trees she sat, seemingly waiting for someone. Pacifica! he would call out to her, his body giving out just as the last syllable left his lips. Limbs would buckle beneath the grey/black man, his mass collapsing to the ground in a heap, lids fluttering closed over his lids, his breathing becoming shallow. He was loosing too much blood.


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