|Theodore|
There was no formation. No tactic. No rhythm. The rogues didn’t strike with purpose—they simply struck.
It was as if their sole motivation was the scent of unfamiliar presence in their territory. Like wild, feral beasts with no reason or restraint, they lashed out, driven by a primal urge to destroy. Not out of desperation. Not out of revenge. They attacked because they wanted to. As if violence itself had become their language.
The first rogue came at me with a snarl, his claws slicing through the air, reckless and blind with rage. But I was faster. My muscles moved out of memory, instinct honed from countless battles before this. I met him head-on, my paw raking across his chest with force that sent him flying, his body crashing through the underbrush like a ragdoll.
Anoth
