[The kick pushes a dull yelp out of his chest and he topples over all too easily, like a rag doll, and then Haine is on him, pressing him to the ground with fingers painfully twisting into his hair and around that time he knows. He's not a hunter but he's been around at slaughter time enough to know without a doubt that the crippling, numbing feeling in his chest is exactly what's reflected in the eyes of an animal before you slit its throat.
Afterwards, he wouldn't have been able to remember the scream if it wasn't for how raw his throat feels. It's there though, choked off and wet, without much volume because it feels as if he's going to get ripped to shreds if he's too loud. And all throughout those excruciatingly slow seconds three words repeat themselves over and over in his head. Like an echo. Like a pulse.
This is it.
But it isn't, and as the grip in his flesh is released something else clicks in him. Survival instinct, perhaps, a dead determination to get out of here alive no matter what and so he moves, much faster than anyone would expect of a boy in this state. Gathering up as much force as he possibly can he slams his fist against the side of Haine's head, aiming for his temple. Disorient. Get him off, get off, and he's squirming now, kicking and punching and wriggling his way free. ]