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Description
A scene from a roleplay between Strike and Ramses. Sorry if I drew Ramses kinda bad; I'm proud myself that I managed these poses so well but the coloring/bg could have definitely been done better. Oh wells... D:

Excerpt from the rp~ :3

Strike could hear the pounding of his own heart as he tried to steady it by breathing deeply. He listened to the shouts of Ramses, who he knew was concerned and even angry now. He probably felt as if Strike was putting his sacrifices to waste. But it was precisely the opposite. Or at least... the elkhound dearly hoped so.

It came time, eventually, when the raiders continued to run at Strike. They were so close now. 100 feet... 50 feet... 20... 10... and finally, they ended up in front of the elkhound. Strike opened his eyes widd and stared straight into their rabid eyes, and he grinned. The grayscale colored dog stayed put, allowing the raiders to come right at him. The fools... they had tunnel vision. They saw what they wanted - dinner - and not what they ought to see - the background.

At the last possible second, Strike jumped up on top of the first raider's skull, using it as a pouncing post. As he fled in mid-air, the first raider went down into the 17 foot ditch behind him. The second went falling down with the first but not before grabbing hold of Strike's limp leg. The elkhound yelped as he was dragged across the ground and towards the edge of the ditch. The raider who had a hold of his leg was dangling as the elkhound struggled to stay attached to the ledge. The first raider to have gone down was hurt at the bottom but still snapping and snarling, unable to contain the excitement that lay in the elkhound falling below with him. Strike cried out as the weight of the second raider became too much. He couldn't control his limp leg; he couldn't even feel it. And it prevented him from doing what he needed to: kick the dog off and pull himself up to safe ground again.

Ramses seemed to take the event before him in slow-motion. The gasp of hope as the first raider was dodged, and sent pitching beyond, to disappear – the rush of relief as the second followed suit – and the flow of hot lead in his chest as he saw Strike dragged out of sight.
His paws couldn’t carry him fast enough up the heap of rubble, and debris tore away in his wake. He reached the top of Strike’s former perch, and his head jerked about at the sound of rabid barking below.
There was a trench, not five feet from where he was standing, and on its lip clutched Strike, with a raider dangling in tow.
Eyes wide, Ramses said, “Hold on! Hold on, I’ll - ” and he stopped talking, taking up a brick in his mouth. He leaned over where Strike hung, and dropped it, sending the burden skimming past the elkhound’s flank and into the beast’s face. Ramses didn’t wait for the sound of its yelp and descent before he braced his paws on the surrounding detritus and seized Strike by the scruff. The taste of dusty fur parched his mouth, and he realized that he was touching another dog with one of his most vulnerable instruments of his person. But the resulting grimace was short, and he began to haul the dog up, all the while careful not to add to the scores of wounds on the dog’s hide with his grip.

Ramses (c) ~Takethra
Strike/art (c) me

Description
A scene from a roleplay between Strike and Ramses. Sorry if I drew Ramses kinda bad; I'm proud myself that I managed these poses so well but the coloring/bg could have definitely been done better. Oh wells... D:

Excerpt from the rp~ :3

Strike could hear the pounding of his own heart as he tried to steady it by breathing deeply. He listened to the shouts of Ramses, who he knew was concerned and even angry now. He probably felt as if Strike was putting his sacrifices to waste. But it was precisely the opposite. Or at least... the elkhound dearly hoped so.

It came time, eventually, when the raiders continued to run at Strike. They were so close now. 100 feet... 50 feet... 20... 10... and finally, they ended up in front of the elkhound. Strike opened his eyes widd and stared straight into their rabid eyes, and he grinned. The grayscale colored dog stayed put, allowing the raiders to come right at him. The fools... they had tunnel vision. They saw what they wanted - dinner - and not what they ought to see - the background.

At the last possible second, Strike jumped up on top of the first raider's skull, using it as a pouncing post. As he fled in mid-air, the first raider went down into the 17 foot ditch behind him. The second went falling down with the first but not before grabbing hold of Strike's limp leg. The elkhound yelped as he was dragged across the ground and towards the edge of the ditch. The raider who had a hold of his leg was dangling as the elkhound struggled to stay attached to the ledge. The first raider to have gone down was hurt at the bottom but still snapping and snarling, unable to contain the excitement that lay in the elkhound falling below with him. Strike cried out as the weight of the second raider became too much. He couldn't control his limp leg; he couldn't even feel it. And it prevented him from doing what he needed to: kick the dog off and pull himself up to safe ground again.

Ramses seemed to take the event before him in slow-motion. The gasp of hope as the first raider was dodged, and sent pitching beyond, to disappear – the rush of relief as the second followed suit – and the flow of hot lead in his chest as he saw Strike dragged out of sight.
His paws couldn’t carry him fast enough up the heap of rubble, and debris tore away in his wake. He reached the top of Strike’s former perch, and his head jerked about at the sound of rabid barking below.
There was a trench, not five feet from where he was standing, and on its lip clutched Strike, with a raider dangling in tow.
Eyes wide, Ramses said, “Hold on! Hold on, I’ll - ” and he stopped talking, taking up a brick in his mouth. He leaned over where Strike hung, and dropped it, sending the burden skimming past the elkhound’s flank and into the beast’s face. Ramses didn’t wait for the sound of its yelp and descent before he braced his paws on the surrounding detritus and seized Strike by the scruff. The taste of dusty fur parched his mouth, and he realized that he was touching another dog with one of his most vulnerable instruments of his person. But the resulting grimace was short, and he began to haul the dog up, all the while careful not to add to the scores of wounds on the dog’s hide with his grip.

Ramses (c) ~Takethra
Strike/art (c) me