So close, thought the bear. He’d been so close.

His claws had dug into her haunch, had sunk into her flesh, and for just an instant, he’d thought he’d earn, savor, and relish his meal, overcome the wails and bellows of hunger. He’d be victorious, fight off the savage, yearning tenacity of hunger, live to see another day, strike out against the world and claim bits and pieces of nothing –

But then she’d evaded, escaped, and the thoughts of his victory came crashing down around him.

It’d been too much of a risk, and he’d poorly calculated his efforts, their assaults, for no sooner had he let out that massive roar, did they come to chase him away, to seize and possess, to match his carnivore rapture with their own. There was one momentous surge after another, all beasts made of bracken, sculpted out of monstrous contortions, of magic and melee, and he could’ve turned away, could’ve escaped, nursed his wounded pride, tried to rationalize another attack on another day.

But his mistakes burned too hot against his brain; his errors scorched, sizzled, embodied his seditious spirit, and no sooner had they come to plunge their swords into his gut did he fight back. The blue one’s horn struck him along the upper left shoulder, and he rose, rose higher on those massive haunches, grimaced in pain, swung his claws with all his might down towards his opponent’s shoulder too.

Then his prey was gone – back and shielded behind a winged thing, and he knew he couldn’t get to her, which made him seethe all the more that this was becoming pointless, deadly, and concerning –

He’d been too engrossed in the finality of his choices when another terrifying moment of pain delved into his haunches, and he fell forward, grunting, roaring, trying to swivel towards the ivory mare who’d dared to stab at him. He lunged for her – for anything in his way, barreling with paws and fangs, hastening for her neck.

And then one more, pushing against him, all might and brutality, and it was all he could do to just remain upright, thrashing, clashing, trying desperately to remain alive – claws rippling through the air, roars of pain, of anguish, of fury laced and surging from his throat, attempting to bite down on her withers too.

[The bear gets stabbed in the left shoulder by Erebos, and in return tries to slash his claws at Erebos’ shoulder.

Due to Weaver shielding Vertigo, he does not attempt to go for either of them.

Beloved stabs him in the haunch, and he lunges for her with paws and fangs towards her neck.

Wessex almost makes him fall down, and he claws all around him, trying to bite down at her withers as well.]