Vilkas breathing grew heavier and heavier. His jaws wanted to bite, and his claws to tear and rip, but he was slowly losing control of them. Alone, cornered and helpless. He had never felt this way before. He was terrified not by death, but that he will never see his Ugnė again. Cold snowflakes fell on his nose and eyes; he breathed slower, louder and heavier. Another Tatar arrow pierced his chest. “Mother Goddess, Mother Goddess, why have you forsaken me!”. Horror, shock and disbelief. The neighing of horses. Then silence.