Wrath's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Without hesitation, it lowered its maw, carefully clamping its fangs around his cloak and lifting him gently onto its back, as if holding a precious but delicate burden.
Wrath's powerful legs started forward, carrying him swiftly through the ravaged forest, each step guided by a sense of urgency, and Alicarde allowed himself to close his eyes, knowing he was in safe—if unconventional—hands.
"At least have the decency to throw me on your back. The saddle would be softer,"
Alicarde groaned, his voice laced with frustration. His body ached, and the dizziness didn't help matters.
Wrath, apparently fed up with its master's complaints, let out a low, rumbling growl. Its violet eyes narrowed with a flash of irritation. In one swift motion, it whipped its head back violently, using the force of the movement to launch Alicarde high into the air.
