Dad fired four shots at its chest. Nothing. It looked down at the displaced fur and little splotches of blood. And then it sneezed at the gun smoke filling the air. Snot sprayed the floor. After violently inhaling the Feral glared at Dad with a sneer on its lips. Is that all? Dad frowned and continued to fire. Three shots. Mom joined in, pumping two out of the rifle. Blood spilled out of the entry wounds but there were no exit wounds.
Roaring, it charged Dad. He threw the pistol on the bar. He had no time to brace himself. Two steps and it was on him.
Officially, the real reason I stopped was because I had become overwhelmed with my own story. There is a lot to take in during this scene. It is from Michael’s perspective for a majority of this fight before it switches over to his mother. Psst! Don’t tell him this- but between you and me, his mother gets more badass scenes than him in this chapter.
He’s a perceptive kid. My problem right now is taking everything he sees and putting it in coherent sentences. His father, Murdoch, and the Feral. These sentences need to emphasize the speed and ferocity of the attack. Doc gets in the way because he can’t do much against a werewolf of such magnitude. I don’t mention just how large it is in the scene given above, but William doesn’t even know what to do with it. I can’t kill Doc off either. He’s still important to the story.
Doc also distracts Michael from the meat of the story. Without worrying about the dog I can operate in a style of writing I’m comfortable with. Visual and immersive. I can bring the real heroes to the forefront again without clogging the scene.
I have a dog. I have a young man with enough training to survive. I have a lieutenant. I have a professional werewolf hunter. I have a werewolf. With all of these together… Do you see my problem?