Greatwater Lake When remembering a life lost

fangs closed over a dainty limb, cut through flesh and tore it as easily as dozens of daggers might. but the boy knew that the traitor ought not to be far behind, and moments later he felt a head slam into his side. he gave a final savage tug to the ankle which he held before it slipped away betwixt his jaws, and he rounded on the dark male as he begun to deliver his own blows. he snapped back, felt fangs tear his fur, but his fast, trained blows were sure to do the same.

and then, abruptly, the male paused. the boy did not. the male was stupid enough to pause in the midst of battle to gaze doe-eyed at the woman, and the boy took advantage by lunging for the males forelimb, fast as an adder and fangs agape, ready to clamp down on whatever he may. he remembered te time the male had taught him, when he was but a few months old, how to fight. But the boy was older now. older, and stronger. and even should the pair leave without enough pain for him to believe the debt to be paid, the boy would summon the wraiths and killers that lived within the wood. for not only had the male turned traitor, no, he had attacked and trespassed on the land of the Brotherhood. (Never mind the fact that he had invited them initially; for he had thought to bring them to the caverns.)

No, the boy's rage was lit, and like the long-burning ember that was his hate toward Atshen, so did this spark and burn, and he hated the male in such a way that it tore at him, and the light that was hate burned in his optics of ice. little did the boy know that one day, perhaps, his hate and pride would very well be the end of him.