Chances are, even without gripping it tight, the wolf wouldn't be able to truly throw Billie off even if it wanted to. Its muscles bulge under her with frustrated motion, some forve of will beyond its control keeping it still, but even in its anguish it recognizes another intruder and leaves off trying to claw itself to mange an attempt to claw the assassin on its back.
Its efforts are cut short by the painful, explosive impact of a bolt to its mouth, its roar of pain muffled into drug-soaked cloth. It gags around it reflexively, trying to spit it out, but it's solidly lodged into the roof of its mouth. Its eyes roll crazily before it manages to clutch at the bolt and rip it free with its free arm, and tries to resume its assault on its rider.
Luck's with Billie and Shura: the maneuver seems to have worked. The damn thing's movements are slowing, growing sluggish and more uncoordinated, like the confused motions of a newborn kitten. Its breath grows labored, more uneven, around the bolt lodged in its mouth, and it slowly slumps to the ground, dazed. The blue light in its eyes fades, though they remain open, now glassy and unfocused ... but unmistakably, even as they watch, the wounds inflicted on it are slowly beginning to knit together.
There's a painful-sounding crash as Daud falls off the roof and manages to pull on a teleportation spell halfway through, coming to a rolling stop in the dirt a few short distance from the others and their prey. He retches as he pushes himself up to one knee, quiet agony carving lines into purple skin, and it may take a moment or two to realize -- he's trying to talk.
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Its efforts are cut short by the painful, explosive impact of a bolt to its mouth, its roar of pain muffled into drug-soaked cloth. It gags around it reflexively, trying to spit it out, but it's solidly lodged into the roof of its mouth. Its eyes roll crazily before it manages to clutch at the bolt and rip it free with its free arm, and tries to resume its assault on its rider.
Luck's with Billie and Shura: the maneuver seems to have worked. The damn thing's movements are slowing, growing sluggish and more uncoordinated, like the confused motions of a newborn kitten. Its breath grows labored, more uneven, around the bolt lodged in its mouth, and it slowly slumps to the ground, dazed. The blue light in its eyes fades, though they remain open, now glassy and unfocused ... but unmistakably, even as they watch, the wounds inflicted on it are slowly beginning to knit together.
There's a painful-sounding crash as Daud falls off the roof and manages to pull on a teleportation spell halfway through, coming to a rolling stop in the dirt a few short distance from the others and their prey. He retches as he pushes himself up to one knee, quiet agony carving lines into purple skin, and it may take a moment or two to realize -- he's trying to talk.