One colossal inkjet gloved paw falls silently to the damp autumn earth. Musty piles of leaves lurk ominously in the peripheral of this midnight bathed giant. Fall. The season of his birth, mean that soon, the snow would come. Day after day of a cold so sharp and numbing, only the strongest would survive. Winter brought death, and if Hurricane could not find the band of Arcus Irae that had escaped, perhaps they would all perish.
A sharp twinge of guilt stabs through the gladiator's intestines. Working them into a knot and sending the frenzied anxiety up through his digestive tract. It buzzed through the depths of his belly and up into his throat. The young warrior had one single goal for the entirety of his life. Protect Losa. For days before the planned escape Hurricane of Mexico had battled himself. Did he stay, and fight? Or did he slip off quietly with the children to ensure their safety on the road. Ultimately, despite the fact that the behemothic leviathan felt a swarm of bees threatening to erupt from his esophagus every time he even thought about Losa leading the band of psychedelic canines through the forest alone, Hurricane of Mexico knew there was not another soul within the lands that he trusted to disrupt Duma. The sheer size of the Tempest alone meant that almost every other lupine within the territory had an automatic disadvantage. Not, however, Hurricane of Mexico.
The two mountainous foes had been matched both in size and strength from the very day they had been plucked from the dens of their parents, and placed into training for the royal guard. Battle after violent battle left the two gladiators tied at an impasse, dragged away from one another by their mentors, until even they could not budge the two mammoth sized opponents. It was the swaying factor that led Hurricane of Mexico to allow the Arcus Irae to leave the lands without him, while he hurled himself into battle against Duma. While Losa and her sister worked tirelessly to free the other children, Hurricane of Mexico fought bravely. This battle was unlike any other he had experienced yet, however. Previously, Hurricane and Duma had ultimately been fighting for the same side, and while each had been desperate to best the other, the fight had always been fair. This battle, however, was not. Duma, time and time again pulled one dirty trick out of his sleeve after another, while Hurricane, struggled at first, to keep up with the intensity of the fight.
This battle was not unlike the other they had fought, however, in the fact that there was no clear winner, both warriors finally fell apart, covered in blood and sweat, and mutually retreated to nurse their wounds. After hours of intense fighting, and several deep wounds, Hurricane left the packlands, traveling opposite of Losa and her band, leaving Duma and his minions a well marked, bloody trail to follow. Hurricane had no doubt they would follow after him, for the entire guard would assume that he was following in the footprints of his betrothed.
And so he stumbled away, bleeding profusely, but desperate to ensure the escape was a success, Hurricane staggered his way to a river, where he collapsed.
Several days went past, as the massive midnight painted dragon waited. The guards passed by him, not once, not twice, but three times as they struggled, unsuccessfully, to pick up the trail of the Arcus Irae successors. After a full fortnight of leading the posse in circles, Hurricane of Mexico finally began his journey toward Blossom Forest, crossing the border almost an entire month after Losa and Zawyane made their way through the lands. Scent markers faded away completely, Hurricane stumbles through the land of Blossom, bordering on panic at his inability to locate the cotton candy princesses. Desperation, exhaustion, and starvation finally surge forward, after weeks of fighting to keep them at bay, and the massive colorless titan collapses, muzzle inches from the water, and his lightning optics fall shut.
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