Heron Lake Plateau your shadow weighs a ton

As quickly as it had happened, it was over when Screech was abruptly knocked/dragged off of her.

The damage was done, though. Her face was slashed, her muzzle bloodied. There was so much blood in her eyes she couldn't tell if she was merely blinded by blood or if her brother's teeth had ruined her vision. Her throat had been torn -- luckily, since she was still awake, it didn't appear that he had nicked anything vital. Her forelegs were bitten and cut. She'd gotten in a few good shots herself, but probably not enough to make much of an impression. She lay there, disoriented, panting, trembling, for some indeterminate amount of time. Everything hurt. Was she dying?

Had her puppies been harmed?

It was that thought that roused her. She blinked her eyes vigorously and, after they cleared somewhat, she found that she could see. By now, Quixote was tending to her wounds, but she scarcely felt it as a searing, white-hot tidal wave of rage washed through her, burning all compassion and familial love to ash in its wake. My children. A low, sinister growl began to churn in her chest as she slowly, shakily pulled herself upright. It took her a second to gather her wits, and she glared darkly toward Screech's crumpled form nearby. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled toward him. Thin fingers of blood trickled through her sleek black fur and pattered on the ground as she moved to her baby brother's side.

She spit on him.

"You are no family to me, you piece of shit," she hissed. She stepped away from him then, putting some distance between herself and him just in case he got any more homicidal urges in his head. "I want him out of this pack. Now." Her amber eyes burned as she looked from Ceara, to Niamh, to her mate. It no longer mattered that he was an invalid, that he likely had brain damage and could potentially die on his own without the protection of a pack or the care of a medic. He had simply abused her love and kindness too much, and this...this was the final straw. Her puppies could be stillborn because of him. "Don't even bother calling yourself a Redhawk anymore, asshole. You don't deserve the name." Whether he heard her or not, she didn't know. She didn't care. She turned her back on him and staggered back to her mate. She leaned against Quixote for support then, her anger deflating somewhat as dizziness from blood loss made her sway on her feet.