((Again, I apologize for being MIA. My studies have gone to oblivion (as if they hadn't already four years ago) and I've decided to finally quit them, take a year away from uni, and determine where my interests really lie (though I have already narrowed it down to two things I could study next instead of Biology: English Language & Culture, or History/Archaeology) - but that also means that I now need to find a job for one year and a new place to live before I get kicked out of my student apartment...
Anyway, I sorely needed a break from all that, so here's a new post - finally!))
"What?" Romios was taken aback by Boomer's question, causing him to almost trip over a stray stick in his surprise. He fumbled momentarily, flaring out his wings as he regained his footing. "Shoot at you? That arrow was meant for this-" he paused, narrowly dodging a savage claw swipe from the dire wolf, "-this direwolf here. Can't you see that it means to-" he paused again as he jumped over the dire's back to get away from its snapping jaws, "-it means to kill us both for dinner!" Romios' breath was coming quick, but it seemed like the great dire was finally starting to tire as well. It was still quick and agile, but when it spun around to face him once again, Romios could tell that it wasn't moving quite as fast as before. Still, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.
Then, it seemed as if his previous words finally caught up with the other avian. Not that it helped much - if anything, it seemed to confuse Boomer even further, sputtering something about having fun and playing. Romios shook his head, wondering how the prairie chicken could possibly have missed the murderous intent in the dire wolf's eyes, pose,
everything.
Moments later, he heard Boomer shout, asking if his stick would do. Romios looked around, only to see Boomer pointing at the dire wolf - or rather, something beneath its feet. It was the stick he had tripped over earlier. Resisting the urge to face-palm, he shouted back.
"If you hit hard enough, it should do fine!"
Luring the dire wolf away from the stave wasn't too difficult. As soon as Romios moved away, the wolf lunged after him. Dodging the great beast, he leaped towards the stave, kicking it in Boomer's direction so the other avian could pick it up... and slipped when his other foot landed on a smooth stone slick with blood and direwolf saliva. He tried to regain his balance, but the direwolf leaped at him, its heavy paws pinning him to the ground, its fangs snapping inches away from Romios' throat. He really regretted choosing single-edged blades now: he had not reversed his grip when he crossed them to block the beast's jaws, and the sharpened edges faced not the beast, but himself.
Damn it. This is quite a troublesome situation.