A Cure

“Get up,” Ashlyn ordered, fiercely staring down at all the fallen werewolves. Her upset mood made her presence overbearing, making it hard for other werewolves to breathe properly. Everyone scattered away.

Instead of this being trained, the warrior werewolves felt they were being beaten up, treated as an outlet for her pent-up frustration. This was the third time they were thrown, and even the fast recovery state couldn’t heal the exhaustion.

Much effort was exerted by one of the werewolves to lift his head and groan. Battered, his face was littered in injuries.

“Commander, please, spare me,” he begged— his tone pained.

The frown set on her face deepened, showing her dissatisfaction towards his words, and this prompted her to shout, “What sort of attitude is this? All of you’re warrior wolves, the pride of the pack. The pack depends on you, trusts you with their safety.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to carry on? It hasn’t even been half an hour. Can’t you bring yourself to last longer?