Cerulean Cape High maintenance means you're a gluttonous queen, narcissistic and mean

The flesh across Raptor's leg ripped and tore under Wylla's ferocity and his own bullheaded efforts to escape it, but his teeth had left their own score across her snout and drove her back. He was stiff and smug for all but a moment as his burnt umber eyes beheld his work... but his injured leg was quivering from adrenaline, and when he spared it a glance he was drained of all the will to keep up his aggression. Raptor's limb bore several hideous gashes, and blood had soaked his dark fur and was seeping into the sand beneath his paw. Had he not been so reckless he would have spared himself a lot of injury, but there he stood with awful and sinister wounds; the same sort he had seen on another's limb; the same sort he had seen become infected and rot the entire leg off.

He felt sick and ashamed and embarrassed — and a cocktail of other wild emotions half of which he could not even name — and his opinion of himself plummeted even further as unbidden thoughts of his past stormed his mind. Raptor had brought all the recent follies on himself (and arguably, most of his past ones), but he levelled his narrowed and malignant stare on her and blamed her for everything that had ever been wrong with him and his life. In that moment he convinced himself wholly and vehemently that she was the embodiment of what had been standing in his way since he was a whelp; that she was the very thing he needed to overcome if he was ever going to survive in this world. He made himself hate her so that he could both arm and shield himself with that hate.

"Watch your back," he threatened lowly. There was no mistaking the malevolence on his face or the vindictive promise in his eyes. Raptor backed away defensively as purpose and sense finally pulled taut the reins, and then retreated to bay to lick his wounds and seethe.