Blood splashed into the air and descended upon the Lycan pack.
Like the rain that comes from an open wound in the sky. But they know better than that.
The reality is much worse than that. The blood belonged to Sigewulf whose arm had been torn off by the Dragon-Erend.
The Lycans let out voices full of sorrow and fear. Their current feelings are uncertain.
On the other hand, they want to help Sigewulf. But on the other hand, their instinct tells them something better for their survival.
They must stay in place, or retreat and escape while there is still time.
"GRAAAAAHHHH!!!"
Sigewulf's pained screams made the Lycans wince and whined.
They huddled low to the ground. Among them, even Grim gritted his teeth and dug his claw deeper into the ground.
His decision to wait was right. If he let the other Lycans attack to help Sigewulf, this pack would indeed be wiped out.
