The wolves shot their glance to him, and created a low growl. He dug into his pockets, and pulled out a marble. The marble was light green, when he threw it on the dead wolf a puff of green smoke circled him. He took off, his fire hair lighting the way. His orange jacket tore when he sprinted past bushes. His pitch black boots hit the soft soil. He jumped and as if from nowhere, gray fire tipped wings unfolded from his back. With a single flap he landed on a branch. #Bisoul