I keep moving, staying just out of reach. Every time he lunges, I dodge. Every time he overextends, I dart in for a quick strike.

Bite his leg. Slash his side. Small wounds, but they add up. Death by a thousand cuts.

He's breathing harder now, his tongue lolling. His movements are getting slower, more predictable.

Good, Penelope's voice echoes in my memory. Patience wins fights. Not rage.

Ten minutes in, my father is bleeding from a dozen places. His beautiful fur is matted with blood and ...