As if by unspoken agreement, both sides suddenly pulled apart. Their tongues lolled out as they gasped for air, their bodies riddled with wounds from which fresh wolf blood dripped unceasingly onto the ground.
But neither paid these wounds any mind. Each knew the other was utterly exhausted, yet they remained facing off like two statues.
The watching warriors and wolves felt an atmosphere even more oppressive than during the earlier melee; they knew the next exchange would decide the victor.
Warwolf trusted his longtime companion deeply. No one knew the Wolf King's condition better than he did.
Even weakened, he could easily handle a young wolf pup.
Impelled by the ritual, the final battle erupted instantly, both sides lunging to attack at almost the same moment.
The two figures clashed again, this time with even greater ferocity. They had no intention of dodging, only of tearing at each other's flesh.
