Cerulean Cape Cause for hate and a cause for ending, it sounds so easy

She worked the driftwood in her jaws as her paws hit the sand, and for a time she wandered along that way, tail high and head higher. For the first time in ages she felt like her old, haughty self, with unexplained giddiness fighting for supremacy over her more negative emotions. The weather was nice, the ocean was sparkling, and she wasn't being assaulted by the scents at home that enraged her; it was easy to see why Wylla might be in a rare good mood.

That is, until she noticed who was running toward her. Raptor wasn't fucking around this time; she barely managed to drop the driftwood and set her defensive stance before he was on her, barreling forward with superior weight and snapping jaws. He caught her sharply on a cheek and scored deep marks into it, eliciting a shrill, "what the fuck is wrong with you!" between retaliatory strikes of her own as she stepped back, aiming with speedy lashes of her sharp teeth for his eyes and tender nose.