Crimson Drops

The crunch of snow and ice was like the shattering of glass, but the red splatter could never be mistaken for wine.
Hot crimson drops hissed as the snow beneath them melted, and steam rose from all around the fallen form.
The snow shook as the creature gave a growl and struggled to rise, but the snow it had fallen in was too deep for the weakened creature.
The barest puff of smoke escaped from between the creature's bared teeth, but that was all it could manage. Not even the smallest of embers.
It was too cold, and too weak.
Pathetically weak, to have been downed like some migratory bird. And like a bird, it had never even noticed the hunter taking aim until it was too late.
And it was too late. Whoever the hunter was, they knew exactly where to aim to pierce that vulnerable place between protective scales.
Hot blood was weeping at an alarming rate, far faster than it should have been.
But then, it hadn't been a normal projectile, not with the stench of magic that lingered in the wound.
The world was fading, and the creature could do naught to prevent its own demise.
There was a crunching as something approached the creature through the snow, something with a metallic sheen.
A knight. Who knew they still existed?
The knight lifted a sword that reeked of magic, and the creature allowed itself one final growl as the blade came down.