The awakening of beasts

Thronton staggered backward, barely able to break free from the onslaught of the furious guard. His face was smeared with blood, vision blurred by the thick streams dripping from his brow. He hadn't taken such a savage beating since he was a young boy, scrapping for survival in the unforgiving mountains. Every swing of his axe felt heavier, as if the weight of the weapon itself was trying to drag him down into the frozen earth beneath him. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each inhale burning his lungs. Thronton's body screamed at him—he was at his breaking point.