Dragoncrest Cliffs anger is the more productive cousin of fear

In attempting to recall the details later, Artaax would never be able to say just how long he had stood over the dead wolf's body with its throat clutched in his teeth. Realization was slow to seep into his consciousness, but as it did, he felt his legs begin to tremble and his eyes widen from shock and fear. Until that moment, it was as though he had't been present for what had just transpired upon Drageda's borders. But, in time, reality flooded in and he knew. He had killed someone. He had killed someone.

He had barely released his hold on the stranger's torn flesh when Blixen came barreling onto the scene. He shifted his gaze to see her coming in the last instant before the collision, staggering back a few inches from her weight and the weakness in his own limbs. His breathing quickened as she screeched at him, and he found he could not reconcile her question with any potential answer. Instead, he focused only on the realization of what he had just done, and so his response was a stammer in defense of that act.

"He.. He crossed our borders. He was trespassing. He wouldn't stop," Artaax answered, blinking at his sister with desperation written upon his face for her to name the dark wolf's act as a crime, and not say that of the murder he had committed.