[Chrrou AoO bite damage: 1d8(8)+3 = 11 damage; Improved Grab/Chomp]<br/>[Chrrou Improved Grab/Chomp vs. presumably unconscious target: d20(6) + 18 = 24, I assume success]<br/><br/>As his much-wounded foe is nearly whisked away, finally the lion's jaws close about their target; a sudden jerk and a twist of Chrrou's head, and the feline's bone-snapping fangs tear the archer free from his saddle and his lupine-borne salvation, rending his body viciously in the process. Eyes glittering darkly, Chrrou raises his head to regard the rider who nearly tore his prey away, dripping jaws closing about the body trapped between--<br/><br/>And the druid's ever-quick vision again takes in the sight of the lone attempted rescuer, and then darts to regard Sen in the periphery of his sight. Eyes travel slowly from goblin to goblin as the lion's stomach growls noisily; unlike most in the winter-ravaged land, Chrrou's body hasn't known actual hunger for the entire duration of the famine, but the taste and mouth-borne weight of blood and flesh are enough to make him drool and his belly ready itself in expectation of feasting.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">...were not raised in the Pact, what of them? Who will bring it to them, Chrrou, if...</span>"<br/><br/>A voice from the past echoing in his ears, the dire lion slowly dips his head to lay the battered and near-slain goblin to the ground below, one massive paw covering him over as the blood-spattered beast gives a murmuring growl.<br/>[Cure Minor Wounds as standard action in the round during which the AoO was provoked]<br/>The near-broken archer's wounds close, gaping gashes and incisions closing over to leave the druid's victim with a fragile but stable grip on life. Giving the bundle of unconscious goblin a token nudge toward the mounted rider, the dire lion turns away to stalk back toward his companions after meaningfully surveying the stunned goblinoid throng.<br/><br/>The same judgment does not, apparently, extend to Heshaar's second victim, who soon issues lumpily down the wolfess's throat as she spits messy pieces of spiked armor into a pile on the ground. Unconcerned with anything but victory, she pants and growls happily, happily pressing and rubbing her engorged belly against the ground below as her tail lashes and her gut makes to finish turning the worg and the hobgoblin into so much more sustenance.