Moonspear change in the house of flies

He desperately wanted to be strong, to have the capability that would ensure his survival. The look of disregard upon the raccoon's marked face unsettled him to the extreme, but there was little he could do about it - more than likely, if he were to challenge this feasting pest, he would come away with more damage to himself than he could handle. Not for lack of trying (he was almost full grown now and even thinned, he had sharp reflexes) but rather, Tywyll could not wager what precious energy he had in case he were to lose.
And yet, none of that mattered. The creature tucked in to further obliterate the cache but before it could dive nose-first back in to its work, something dark and malevolent swept from the trees and in singular moment of frenzy, the creature was dead. Its body was limp, hanging from between bloodied teeth. Tossed aside like refuse.
Tywyll watched this without seeing, at first. It was too fast for him. He was too tired, distracted by the flourish of blood-scent that set his mouth to salivate. Blue eyes; a torn ear. He saw these details as he focused, and then the raised tail - and as if reponding to a cue, he dropped to the dirt and pitifully pooled himself upon his back. He pawed at the air as if praying to this force of nature, please spare me!