Yuri trundles more slowly toward the next door, making low, dangerous noises. He eyes the silver on it with abject hatred, stopping several paces short of it. There's a voice inside him saying he doesn't want to go through it -- that all that's out there is pain, and pain in getting through the door. It would be easier, so much easier, to go back the way he came and --

And spend the night in that dismal hole. Yuri snarls and froths, pacing back and forth in front of the door as much as he can in this little hallway. Stop? He's waited months for this. A swipe of his paw jars the door, leaving it crooked and scattering silverware. The pain as it bounces off his hide ignites his rage, and he lashes out again and again, until the door is in shatters, its remains hanging off the hinges.