Catch my breath

Mortis wasn't having a great time. As he slammed his shoulder against the ice (the right, to avoid the fresh wound on his left) he realised the folly in trying to break through the ice. His slamming had opened up a second wound on his right shoulder, and blood ran down his fur on both sides now. Tainting the ice with his blood he didn't know what this place was, and he wasn't sure that feeding it his blood was wise. He pushed a paw pad down on the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. As he did so, he realised his guide had found an easier route. 


Getting through it without hurting either shoulder, or catching his wings, was no easy feat. By the time he was through, he was panting. Stress and pain brought lines across his muzzle. He glanced at the weeping guide. He could turn and walk away, but leaving her… wasn't right. 


Feeling subdued from how his brute strength tactics had failed him, he proceeded more cautiously through the strange cavern. His eyes lingering on broken art across the floor. What had happened here?


Dexterity