Blood pours from the wound.
The hounds snarl viciously at him. There are two of them.
Standing over him as his life drains from the hole newly torn in his outer thigh. The tooth is still lodged in his leg.
It is the only reason he is still conscious. The delicate ivory dagger is all that is keeping his femoral artery from emptying itself onto the dusty pine-needle covered ground.
He realizes his peril. His impending departure from this mortal plane instilling in him a new-found appreciation for the life he is about to lose. He feels regret.
He regrets walking into the forest at night alone. He regrets leaving his home in anger and he regrets the last words he spoke to his family.

He is sure this is the end. He has finally done it.

He grows increasingly desperate as moments from his past leap to the forefront of his awareness. Even as these awful beasts circle closer his mind is filled with images unrelated to his current predicament.
But perhaps not so unrelated as it was these blunders that each led him a step closer to this fateful nights error. His attention turns back to the beasts. Each vying to be the first to indulge itself on the flesh of this foolish over-evolved hominid squirming in front of them. But the creatures are no longer what he fears. He can feel the blood draining from his wound. He feels the wetness and the growing chill.
He feels the absence of his future.

He pleads with God to give him one last chance.

One last chance to make something of the life which he has treated with such ungrateful flippancy.
One last chance to keep the spirits of his parents from breaking under the weight of losing their child.
One last chance to find the love he knew he’d never find again.
One last chance to find the courage to create some meaning for himself.
One last chance to die with some small amount of peace in his heart.