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His throat was tight, he could hardly breathe. Something may as well have been gripping it from the outside, but there was nobody else there. Only him. Wheezing past that aching lump in his throat, it took him some time to realise through a spiraling upset that he was on his hands and knees. What had been a numb, dull sort of acceptance was now a broken carousel of hurt and rage, rage, rage , burning like fire in a dragon’s belly. The bear in him was roaring, the wolf was snarling and hungry to tear into something, the horse was pounding its hooves into the earth.
The raven was crying.
He had to go on.
-From Chapter 6, "The Phoenix and the Raven"