The instinct that was so absent a moment ago is the only thing in Roland's mind now. Well, not in his mind, but in all of him. His mind is empty of all thought, but not because he is dying - although he might be, Roland has only ever died from impact with the ground before, and isn't really sure how to judge anything else.
Not that it occurs to him to try. His body is responsive as it ever has been, his mind empty, and when the wolf opens its jaws to howl in pain instinct deeper than thought tells Roland to move, and so he does, rolling out of its mouth and finishing the fall he'd begun. From those teeth to the ground is a height about the size of a man and Roland lands hard, but any pain that sends sharp through him is nothing to the adrenaline that's moving through his blood now, and is ignored.
What isn't ignored is the surprise of a couple of fingers landing in something hot. He spares the precious time to look over, then looks back again, and lays flat on his back. One more moment of stillness, one more - and then the wolf is here and the both of them are moving and it howls, and Roland sees orange dancing up over the thing's pelt and smells cooking meat. His mind is still no place for thought, but Roland is aware, distantly, that some of that smell might not be coming from the wolf.
Isn't important now. Won't be, anyway, for much longer.
"Alain!" All the certainty that was so absent up there in the tree - a very long time ago, it seems, perhaps years - is here in Roland's voice now. This is a voice that has roared over gunfire and battle and death, a voice that does not even consider the possibility of going ignored. "Come down! Pin it here!"
He's thinking of his own weapon, of course, the cooking knife that may be hanging from his belt, may have fallen on the ground, and would be so much more effective at pinning anything than Alain's little blade. But the actual details don't matter. All that matters is that Alain comes down here, and helps make certain this thing dies.
no subject
Not that it occurs to him to try. His body is responsive as it ever has been, his mind empty, and when the wolf opens its jaws to howl in pain instinct deeper than thought tells Roland to move, and so he does, rolling out of its mouth and finishing the fall he'd begun. From those teeth to the ground is a height about the size of a man and Roland lands hard, but any pain that sends sharp through him is nothing to the adrenaline that's moving through his blood now, and is ignored.
What isn't ignored is the surprise of a couple of fingers landing in something hot. He spares the precious time to look over, then looks back again, and lays flat on his back. One more moment of stillness, one more - and then the wolf is here and the both of them are moving and it howls, and Roland sees orange dancing up over the thing's pelt and smells cooking meat. His mind is still no place for thought, but Roland is aware, distantly, that some of that smell might not be coming from the wolf.
Isn't important now. Won't be, anyway, for much longer.
"Alain!" All the certainty that was so absent up there in the tree - a very long time ago, it seems, perhaps years - is here in Roland's voice now. This is a voice that has roared over gunfire and battle and death, a voice that does not even consider the possibility of going ignored. "Come down! Pin it here!"
He's thinking of his own weapon, of course, the cooking knife that may be hanging from his belt, may have fallen on the ground, and would be so much more effective at pinning anything than Alain's little blade. But the actual details don't matter. All that matters is that Alain comes down here, and helps make certain this thing dies.