this is a solo seasonal, don't mind me

Word count: 1007

Sometimes it felt like something was always lunging at his neck. Ronan might have found it funny if he had much of a sense of humour left, the remaining tatters were dry as if they’d been left out in the sun and paper thin. It wasn’t as if he’d been particularly disagreeable, most starts he didn’t start, but he certainly ended them on his terms. And yes, he understood that his presence wasn’t welcomed, understandable- but what did this pack of hounds expect him to do? He was a strong enough swimmer, better than most, but he wasn’t foolish enough to brave conditions like that. Even as a crack of thunder lit up the ruined hall, reflected off the shattered glass on the floor, they remained snarling, teeth bared. For some reason, they truly loathed wolves- as if someone had kicked them out of their turf before and they thought for sure someone might try and do it again.

Thunder boomed, loud enough to make Ronan’s ears flick back to muffle the sound. It’d been close, just offshore. The gap hadn’t been longer than a breath.

He shifted his weight, his tongue flicking with frustration against the roof of his mouth. He felt justified in his anger, but he supposed they did too. Ronan was out numbered, he counted about a dozen, some lingering in the shadows of the corridors beyond. The remains of what used to be a large pack of feral dogs, just as crumbling as the building they resided in. Some were tiny little things, with barks he knew would be yappy, teeth too blunt to do any real damage. But that big one there, tail bitten short and with droopy ears, she could be difficult. She knew it, as well as he did, that the majority of her kin would amount to a distraction at most. Helpful, but maybe not enough. Her best case scenario would be to posture and bluff enough that he’d just turn tail and leave, but they were both bitter enough to know things would never be so easy. Would either of them even be there if it were? Probably not.

Another flash of lightning, paws thudded against the tiled flooring as snarls erupted. Crashing together with the sound of thunder. Some poor Russel-esque mutt lunged at the ankle of his back left leg, only to be punted off with a sharp kick. It’s yelp rung out as it skittered into some glass, the pick of its belly already addled with some kind of rash. They weren’t monsters, they would have fit in perfectly with the folks he used to protect; ordinary folk just trying to survive.
But now they were on opposite sides of a line, the edges jagged and not so clean cut as he’d like. It just had to be this way, or at least that’s what Ronan told himself.

Another lanky thing, some sort of sight hound rushed in close, too fast for him to react and grabbed a hold of his scruff, pulling it tight with slim muzzle clamped. He let out a snarl, temper crackling like the beginnings of a fire, and reeled to the side, wing blade flitting forward as he hunched his shoulder-using more force than needed as he felt the pointed tip connect with the dog's cheek. He surged through with it, the dog crying out in alarm as blood splattered against the tiled flooring, it was a cosmetic wound. Nothing to get all worked up over, as far as Ronan was concerned, anyway. It wasn’t like he’d taken the dog's eye or tried to ram it through to his brain.

He shifted then, setting his sights on the leader of vagabond hounds. Just because he was good at fighting didn’t mean he particularly cared for it, felt it was a necessity more than anything else.  Had pushed himself to the brink physically and for what? To cower and hope his fate would change of its own accord? Hm. The pair clashed, tumbling to the ground- she was an old thing, grey around the muzzle but smarter, more tactical in her approach. She managed to land a few solid hits as they scrambled on the floor, his wider, thicker muzzle finally clamping down on hers. He could’ve killed her, he’d be a liar if he claimed the thought didn’t occur to him but he didn’t. He held back, showed at least a degree of restraint as he shifted to pin her. Used his massive weight advantage to shove her down, claws flicking out to dig into the meat of her shoulders. Yield. He gave her the option, felt a twang of mercy stir in his heart, because they were all so familiar. Even the look of dejection in her eyes hit too close to home. He grunted as he shoved himself off of her, point proven.

The other hounds watched with unease, but left him be as he rose to his paws and shook himself off.  They could keep this place, all he demanded was one room for the night, and then he’d be gone. He didn’t think he was being entirely unreasonable. Very few words were exchanged, but at least some understanding had been met. He would leave them to lick their wounds and tend to their bruised egos, but ultimately they had to understand he had shown them mercy. Something many wolves wouldn’t have done in the face of such an affront, perhaps he was unkind or unfair for bullying them into letting him have his way.

Ronan didn’t care to think about it much, shrugged it off as he moved to the shadows to find some rest, passing what appeared to be a litter of pups hidden away in a propped open suitcase. He paused for a moment, noticing how one of the dogs- some sort of spaniel froze in alarm, raised a paw as if in protest.  He arched a brow, letting out a huffed exhale through his nose before he moved on. Pups unharmed, obviously.