The Heartwood man was born to sin, set him free and he will be a sinner

In very little time, it was done. To say the least, Vaati was left quite confused. She had taken blood and skin from him, left him quite broken and exhausted and willing for death, but stood above him and claimed their debt had been settled. Had his debt not already been settled when she had nearly taken his eye? Was her attack not purely out of sport like Charon led him to believe? Vaati, post-almost death, finds it very difficult to believe that he had spent this whole time fearing a little scratch rather than her bringing him an early death. "I never hurt one of your own in the first place," He spits out blood as he says so, turning to her with both confused and angered eyes, whilst he picks himself up. He had evidently been cheated, tricked into believing she wanted his life this whole time. If he had known all she wanted was to give him a silly scar, he would have marched up to her on Moonspear's borders months ago instead of isolating himself within Blackfeather's shadows and living in a constant state of anticipation. He had practically willingly put himself in solitary confinement for months, just to have her taste a bit of his blood? "That's it?" He asks baffled, disbelieving and almost offended. Wincing at the discomfort, the pain in his neck would grow in a similar fashion that the scar on his eye had progressed only, while he didn't know it yet, the bit she had tore out of him was much, much bigger than he could presently tell. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins blocked out the majority of the white-hot ache he would feel the next morning, and yet, he almost taunts her on. 

But the tide soon shifts (much to his continued bafflement), and she asks of him something quite peculiar. He almost spits in her face and tells her to go to hell after all the needless worry she and her threats had caused him, but halts before he has the chance. He was not about to be framed for something he did not do, "No." But the wheels of recognition churn and his head and he recalls a particular Caldera wolf that had the pleasantries of waltzing through Blackfeather's 5-star guest services. He had not gotten the stranger's name, other than the singular noticeable quality about him. "The loud one?" 

As far as he knew, the little screeching shit had taken Cassiopeia.
"I don't know him, but I'll kill him."