Kill it.
That was the first thought that jumped into his mind. Three years of raiding dungeons had carved a deep, almost reflexive instinct into him.
He couldn't stand lying on the ground. Completely vulnerable. He felt the earth shake as the wolf landed before him. The stench of the beast hit him first.
Godfrey lifted his eyes. It was a towering creature. So tall that he couldn't see its face now that the wolf stood right before him.
His eyelids suddenly grew heavy, and his thoughts sank. Right beside his face, a massive sword plunged deep, yet he didn't even move.
Crimson liquid, once warm, tainted the white snow all around him. Godfrey stared at the barely visible sky, hidden behind the snowflakes. They fell like flowers of ice placed before his grave. The distant wind wailed like a lover mourning beside a grave.
It called. That entity known as death. The inevitable. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it all around him. Welcoming him.
