When I die, I'll let go

He hunted the creature through the night. His brother in tones of orange, and flashes of black. He stood taller than his enemy, but it's wollowy form packed a lot of power. He chased it along the woods, utterly unaware that he flanked it like a hunting pair of wolves. 


He coiled his hunches, preparing his strike when the tiger suddenly hit the ground. He skidded in the dirt as he halted his advance. Turning on tiger and attacker with a savage growl. He reached a paw in to yank the invading wolf back - she was stealing his kill - when his mercury gaze fell on the intense green of her own. “Wormwood? he asked, astonished. A growl from the tiger reminded him now wasn't the time to falter. He snarled at the best, and tore a gash along its upper shoulder. “The hell are you doing here?,” he said between the blood in his teeth. He had thought… he had thought all his childhood street friends would be dead by now.