Blackfeather Woods words are wind, my friend

Ah, there it was-- the roar of his brother. The noise filled his being and fueled him further, causing the child into the craze that longed for the metallic tang of Abraxas’ blood. But even in his glory came pain. Soon enough, his brother countered with blows to his face-- blows that were significant enough for the child to let go again.  

Blood trickled down the child’s face and his molten eyes glowed as he looked to Abraxas with the utmost hatred. Baring his fangs, and allowing his own blood to flow, Atshen stayed in place as words curdled in his throat.

“Mutilation.” The word was quiet but it’s presence heavy in the air. Stalking forward another step, he pulled himself to full height. Though he was leaving himself terribly exposed, the child waited to see what his brother would do next.