He quivers, lip drawn back in a snarl. The rough edge of a rope dangles between his forelegs, his teeth having made short work of it...but unfortunately, not short enough. His vision is hazy, rage making it difficult to focus, to pay attention to anything but that which he would give his life for--crumpled on the forest floor, and far too still.
Body held low to the ground, he charges, making no sound--a sound would have given warning, and have given them time to prepare. His jaws close around the jugular, ripping and tearing, and moving on to the next without hesitation. Finally, an eternity, or perhaps only moments later, the clearing lies silent, save for his furious panting. Fury spent, he practically collapses, dragging his own body, marred by a dozen small bleeding wounds, over to his beloved, who already cools, and curling his own body around it protectively, nose buried against it. He'd been too late, and all his willingness to die in their place couldn't change that.