Nick had hoped the wendigo would stay down, that the shot to the chest would be enough to quell his rage; it wasn't, unfortunately, and the creature rose to his feet, ready to try again, ravenous hunger driving him when common sense would have told anyone else to stay down. The shot at close-range had ruined something in his shoulder, leaving one arm limp while the other went back on the attack.

Nick sighed, watching the wendigo stagger, and prepared himself himself to dodge. "You can hear me, can't you? You've gotta stay down, or at least cooperate. I can help you. I want to help you."

But what he and the wendigo wanted were clearly two different things. He was nearly surprised by how quick the creature could be, even when crippled, as he stepped back from the wendigo's swing and found his tie caught by the claws. They cut through the fabric like a hot knife through butter, and Nick found himself glad that hadn't been his body on the receiving end of the blow.

"Don't make me shoot you again," he warned, knowing good and well the creature was beyond such rational thought.