Awkward Footing - Fanar

Awkward footing. A strong breeze. Or is it breath?

The cold doesn’t bother me. Mama and Dad have good blood. I’m warm in the worst of conditions with little more than this feather mantle and Mama’s old cloak.

Definitely breath. I can smell it now.

It was upon me in an instant. We danced across the bridge for some time. I gained some ground and laid fire on him until he was once more in arms reach. The dumb thing did most of the work for me. It relentlessly attacked my blade, cutting its palm and fingers along its length. It would recoil in pain, giving me further openings.

It got a few good hits on me early on. Its sheer mass would carry through even after hitting the blade. My leather doublet did little to stop the bruising or threat of broken bones but I had no fear of his claws. I tended to my wounds on the fly, ducking his blows and getting him to chase me to the other side of the bridge. He was tiring at last. He charged one last time, his exhaustion betraying him. I went low and held my blade firm. His disgusting fur soon met my doublet. Everything went quiet for a second. I held steady, waiting for a sign. He struggled above me then collapsed onto my shoulders. I believe he impaled himself in his left lung. I’m not entirely sure. Doesn’t matter. I tossed him into a ruined heap on the center of the bridge. I cleaned my sword and returned it to my back. Kneeling, I took out Uncle Haar’s bottle opener and dug it in and across the neck.

The breath stopped.