ORIGIN

Sergei flinched: one moment he was facing the Deinocornus and the next, he was flat on his back, the wind knocked hard from his lungs, claws raking into his flanks with the weight behind them of a beast that weighed over a thousand pounds. His arm came up, head twisting aside, in an attempt to block those massive jaws from closing on anything vital.

Agony wrenched through him as fangs punctured flesh, gripping down and crushing his left forelimb. His own cry echoed the wail the Deinocornus had made earlier: half-roar, half-agony, ringing through the jungle.

Agony spiked through his forelimb, white-hot enough to block all else from his mind. Flesh was torn from bone, and that bone itself--he heard a crack, like the breaking of a branch.

Pain and then a strange, numb tingling roared through that limb.

Panic struck him. He roared again, a pained sound, and struck hard and viciously with his right limb, aiming claws for the side of the Deinocornus's neck. He attempted to rip straight through that hide, tearing downward, severing veins and arteries--no longer thinking of a gemstone, but saving his own life.

Panting, bleeding from multiple wounds--none life-threatening, but all painful--Sergei pushed up from the blood-matted leaf litter. He cradled his wounded left arm with his right, feeling the strange and horrible sensation of cracked, grinding bone.

He looked around, and spotted his spear some distance off, in the underbrush; only the faintest gleam of blue tipped him off. He plodded quickly over, hefting it in his good hand--leaving the other to dangle painfully--and set off into the underbrush.

He hesitated only for a moment, before plunging into its shadows.

His discovery of the dying Deinocornus--after a panting, stumbling pursuit through the undergrowth--was followed with dismay. After it had died, he carved it to pieces in a hunt for a stone, and found nothing.

He gave up, after a time. He set his spear aside and collected some vines with his good hand, using snout and hand to clumsily tie a branch to the broken bone as best he could. It wasn't a real splint; it wasn't even good, but when he looped it around his neck, at least the forelimb was no longer flopping loosely.

Sergei slid down, sitting beside the dead beast. He laid his spear in his lap and then set about eating the creature. He was an omnivore, after all, and always hungry; there was no point in letting this creature's meat go to waste.

All the while he kept a wary eye out for any other carnivores, or scavengers, that might make themselves known. He debated a deliberate trap, or bait. He doubted he could fight another one of these, and survive, not with a broken arm. Maybe not even with an unbroken set of arms.

He'd been more than aware of this possibility. With jaws stained by the blood of his meal, and his spear in his lap, he had only seconds to react but he'd been ready.

His beady eyes snapped wide, though: this creature, while not as heavy as a Deinocornus, was tall and instantly vicious. He barely had time to register the sword-like claws before it was nearly on him. He snatched up his spear and turned, bracing the butt to the ground and angling it to impale his attacker.

Regardless of whether he managed this--to thrust the spear right through it in a desperate act--he was still struck an instant later by those sword-like claws. He felt them rake through flesh, tearing through his chest, his arms, ripping apart the vines he'd wound so carefully around the one. He tipped backward, wheezing, and twisted the spear as best he could with a single arm, then kicked out with both his feet to try and force the monster back.