I quickly take the situation in while I'm still running, dashing forward like a rhinoceros, bending trees and rolling over obstacles as I go, opening a very visible path as I pass by, but I don't care since I have a dreadful feeling of the situation I am in.
And these wounds, even though the mere scratches were already healed, left an afterimage in my mind, screeching and pulling, a reminder of what may be of me if that human gets hurts, if he dies.
I don't have time to think further into it when I see that the fox is on top of the cold-eyed man, gun in between, holding its jaws at bay and away from the man's face, but it is only a matter of time, a matter of seconds, until that deadly embrace of its tentacles limbs stretch out and coil around him like a snake.
