Zeth cracked his head against the wooden floorboards, left out a ggrruuumph sound, and felt blood at the rear of his skull, an open wound that would probably need attention and stitches. The coyote’s weight held him to the floor. Its front paws pressed against Zeth’s chest, and its muzzle was aligned with Zeth’s face.
Their eyes met as if to say: Die or live. Whatever it takes.
The coyote snarled, showing its yellow-white teeth, dripping saliva on Zeth’s chin.
Fear.
Zeth had never been acquainted with it like that moment. He trembled inside, wide-eyed, and started to feel every muscle tense. His nostrils were flared, and he lost oxygen, almost falling into unconsciousness. The weight of the coyote against his chest only added terror to the moment, pressing against his torso, pinning hi
