Cerulean Cape if someone is talking about you behind your back, just fart

Up until then, Raptor had the physical edge while Wylla had the vocal one; his ability to halt her with his fat ass enraged her, while her jabs incensed him. But now the bone was broken in half, so his physical edge was gone. It seemed she had the upper hand now, with sharp bone aimed toward his gullet and comebacks loaded on the tip of her tongue, but he had to go and call her ugly, didn't he? She'd done it to him, and it was only fair, but everyone knew all men were ugly, and calling a thin wraith of a woman ugly was like calling a bear lazy.

Aghast, she briefly dropped the bone, and had the good sense to pin it beneath a narrow paw as she openly gaped at him. "Excuse me?" she asked, flattening her ears and baring her teeth in an abrupt threat display. Woah, Wylla, it's not like he killed your pet cat. On several occasions, this good-for-nothing pirate wannabe had insulted her and humiliated her, and for that he deserved every inch of his scruffy face maimed.

Instead, she let her rage consume her, followed closely by the snapping jaws of self-loathing, and told him in a dangerously low tone, "I catch your sorry ass 'round here again, you're dead," and then picked up her half of the rib bone—it was a hard won prize, after all—and turned away from him with a lash of her tail. It told quite clearly her true feelings on the matter, though she wasn't kidding with the death threat. She didn't know they were actually equidistant between her home and his; she would marshal her troops and bury him alive, of that she was convinced. For now, she marched away to lick her wounds and plan her revenge.