"You're absolutely right. You need to survive first." A deep, chilling voice, rich with an intimidating masculinity, echoed from behind him, its guttural undertones enough to make those who heard it shiver in fear.
Sybarun subconsciously nodded at this affirmation, freezing when he realized the voice was not his own. A gust of wind, followed by a shockwave, rushed over him from behind, tousling his fur and unseating him from his steed.
Shaking like a leaf, the minotaur pushed himself up on all fours, nearly fainting at the sight of the pool of silver blood in which he wallowed. An eye, still tethered by its optic nerve, from the now-deceased Sinewshade bobbed mockingly in his field of vision, eliciting a high-pitched squeak of terror from him.
