Hoshor Plains i've been running all my life

exit Ali!

The moment his grip loosened, Runion pulled free. Immediately Ali knew the shame of his own weakness. Piercing teeth ripped at his shoulder, slicing through skin to reveal pink-and-white muscle in the moments before the wounds welled with crimson. Another cry, ragged this time, forced itself from his raw throat. The torment continued.
Ali felt the white-hot trail continue to his neck, to the exposed skin of his slim throat; he was only vaguely aware of the pressure now, the feeling of tearing. It was an indistinct trail of flame. Time slowed. Warmth dripped from his chest; its metallic tang choked the air around him. He turned, slow as if moving through water, and reared back.
Then, he struck. Alarian's vision blurred and his head spun from the rush of suddenly moving faster than he thought himself capable of. He felt fur and flesh between his teeth; instinctively, he gripped it.
But, he had to go. As if suddenly sobered, the boy tugged back, making to leave— but found himself unable to release his hold. Whether it was feral instinct or some fault of his own, he would never know. Alarian ripped himself away, taking whatever flesh he held with him, and stumbled back. He was still for several beats.
In this moments, he could only stare in horror at his brother— at the blood surrounding them, mostly his own. He had never thought it would come to this. The Governor let the flesh fall from his jaws— and, with speed only explained by fight-or-flight adrenaline, bolted for Tindómë.