Solomus believed satisfaction as the word to use in the situation he just weaseled out of. Who wouldn't be satisfied with themselves that they just talked a bloodthirsty wolf out of ripping their throat from their neck? Zuri could've killed him right there, and he was sure no one would've stopped her from leaving afterwards. Rhysol was watching over him, and he was spared. And she was spared too, as he watched her crash through the door into the steets. Solomus was sure that was a sight, a wolf running through the streets of Ravok. But then they would go back to their daily lives. To them, that was normal. It would've been a daily happening if they had to dispose of his corpse. A corrupt city. Solomus stood with the help of a chair. His shirt was bloodstained, three claw gashes across his chest. And oh how it stung. "That's going to leave some scars," he spoke absently. Without looking at the other patrons, he collected his hammer, sticking it through his belt. Without a second look, he stepped outside, heading home. Solomus glanced out to the direction of the docks. He was sure that was where Zuri would've went. Who would stay around here when they spared the life of someone who would hunt them down to kill them? But he headed in the opposite direction, away from where Zuri possibly ran. He told her she would live he lived, and that promise wouldn't be broken so soon. But if they ever crossed paths again, blood would be spilt. And hopefully he would be wiser, stronger, and faster. She would live, and he would live, marked by her claws. But sometime in the future, he would live and she would die, marked by his hammer. Sooner or later, Solomus will wear the pelt of a wolf into battle. End |