REMEMBER: {panic}IS ONLY 2 WORDS AWAY FROM{picnic}

[nighty!]

Missing gasped when she saw Freya attacked Morgan. The Sheerian was still shaking after she fainted, maybe she didn't have anything to eat or that this was beyond scary for her as in lots and lots of gore. (YAY! lol). It was the gore that scared her, she was use to other animals when the other wolves were hunting but she wasn't use to fighting up close. Missing was use to watching the fight from a good safe distance or hunting. Also that she hates meat so she would have to either wonder around and find find some fruit or other good stuff. It's going to be hard though.

She turned to Flisk. He was begging for Freya to get up. Her heart was beating really fast, breathing faster, feeling dizzy again. Has to be awake cause who knows what they are going to do to her.

[/size][/color]

[.Rabid Lycan.]

.SUPERSTITION.FEAR.JEALOUSY.

A simple pinch. That’s all it was, a pinch—two fangs like butcher knives clamping around the skin of his throat, and the uncomfortable pressure that exploded between the points of impact. Immobile, with twin orbs locked onto the female rushing at him, and the electric jolt of de ja vu startled the brute into realization.
“You’ve lasted longer than any other I’ve encountered, I’ll give you that…”
Everything was dark, with the shadows on the wall spilling onto the floor and ceiling, drowning the cavern in suffocating blackness. A sliver of light crawled in their direction from one of the connecting tunnels, but it was hardly enough light to do justice to the atrocities within the cave.
Paws sliding across a floor damp with scarlet—scarlet that appeared as tar in the limited illumination—the wolf who had spoken halted in front of a corpse of a wolf. At least, it looked like a corpse—the faint rise and fall of the skeleton’s chest showed otherwise.
Back with Freya, the sting of pinching escalated to a fierce burning that seared his flesh, but he was still unable to recognize the flow of blood that showered from his shredded throat.
“You’re going to lie here in your blood and shit and misery. You’re going to die here. Tomorrow will be the day… did you hear me? It’s over, my dear. You’re going to die like the bitch you are…”
An inferno now tore at his throat, and his stance was beginning to falter. He was beginning to slide to his stomach.
“If ever you were a wolf…” the skeleton whispered toward him. “I swear—”
Morgan lie still on the ground, a soft bubbling in the back of his throat. Unable to recollect Sanceul’s final words to him. Only able to recognize that he had died that day, much the same as he was to die today.
How… coincidental.
“Be… back… in a minute…”
Morgan exhaled, and there was silence.

[Sivoncé™]

( My ideas are completely dead. I can't write outside of here either )

Her body laid strewn across the ground, bloodstains seeping about the dirt where she lay. A cold sheath of wind fanned across Neveria's flesh, sinking into her skin and bloodstream. This was something their mentors prepared them for, something they were taught to handle from their peers and elder packmates. This was something the seniors would edit out of their stories for the eager listening pups, something that they should come back and hear again when they were older, but wouldn't. We shouldn't be here...this shouldn't be happening. This isn't how it's all supposed to happen.
"I...I can't bear this," she managed, scarcely conscious she'd even uttered the words aloud. Get up, Freya! You can't be dead, damnit, get up! Get up, we'll find a way out of here, you can go back to your pack, get up!

But, of course, Freya did not. She sank deep into the ground's embrace.

Assyria tilted her head critically at Morgan, eyed flitting from him to Freya. I bring her to you half dead and you get nailed in the throat? Some guy you are! "Mhm, whatever. Say hello to the fires for me...." she slink away, snorting with contempt. "Any other strong bods out there care to help a lady? Preferrably without any female companions...?"

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk swallowed, fear pulsing through his every vein. The tangy scent of his own fright caused the bile in his throat to rise and fall with every living breath he took. His pack life was gone now. If he fought, he knew the only way to escape would be to run...and why would he want to put his pack in danger? The young neophyte began pacing again, starting to hyperventilate. As long as they didn't get Trianna. As long as they didn't force her name out of his throat with torture. As long as they didn't know about her, he could live with himself. As soon as Trianna was dead, he too, would slink out and sacrafice himself in any way.

Flisk was a young neophyte, a new one at that. He hadn't seen much, had only trained a little, and right about now, thought he was going to puke. He felt like fainting as Missing had, to get away from all reality and just sit there in the blackness, not knowing what was going on, like those five seconds in the morning when you first wake up. There was nothing like it, nothing at all. When he spotted Freya on the ground, he yelped loudly, almost crying, more of a desperate cry.

"Freya! Get...Get up! GET UP! Don't die! Donnnn't Diiiiiie!"