The boy continued to bounce along, blissfully unaware of his surroundings, blissfully unaware of maturing and becoming an adult. Could ignorance bring true happiness? It seemed to, for Jaeger. But it also seemed that his ignorance would not last long, and perhaps he would be forced to grow up. The adolescent didn't hear the sprinting pawsteps of the white male, and only realized the other was present when he felt a body upon his back and teeth around his scruff. Jaeger cried out, just barely struggling to try and rid his body from the pressing weight and painful teeth of the other. There was nothing he could do, or, nothing that he knew how to do.
His body went limp as the larger male began to shake him, flinging his body around like a ragdoll. Jaeger would grow to be a big wolf but for now, this wolf was far larger than him. The words reached his ringing ears and he snapped them back against his skull, trauma fogging up his head and blurring his vision. Jaeger was thrown to the ground with a heavy thud, and he had a moment of reprieve. Maybe this mean wolf was done, but no- the worst of the attack was just beginning. Jaeger made no move to fight back, only futilely pushing against the ground to try and push himself up, to no avail.
Jaeger's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Each hit of his skull against the rock was like a fang piercing directly through his skull. He cried and yelped, but after the first few slams he grew silent, feeling consciousness slipping from him. The boy thought that he might die here, to a wolf that he hadn't even been able to see. But it seemed that today would not be the day that Jaeger died. It would be the day that part of him died, perhaps, but not the body.
He dropped to the ground, his eyesight swimming and fading as his matching purple eyes looked into those of his attacker. Jaeger was suddenly brought back to an image of his childhood, playing with his grandfather and his siblings near their den. "G-Grandpa Heyel?" He managed to croak out before losing conciousness, the ghost of his grandfather running away. He laid there, motionless, his head and scruff bloody, at the mercy of whoever it was that would find him. |