Witch's Marsh Ascend

please let me know if any of this isn't okay! keeping semi vague!

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Wren, too, saw red.
It was the red that stained the blackened bogwater beneath them, the blood of her dead packmate that oozes up to her feet. The red of her father that surges within her, a commander's next of kin. Right now, she is his daughter.
She hadn't even the time to assure Mae and the newborn were alright, or that Eshe was out of the way before the heathen had struck her. A scorching pain made worse by the oilslick water that pours above, the saltmud flecks that coat her body as she tears into him with whatever she's got. Adrenaline, chemicals, instinct, birthright, emotion; everything had led up to this. All of it came crashing down in jaws that snap and clench and a body that ducks and weaves.
Throbbing, aching, oh God it hurts—
That baby belongs to Swiftcurrent fucking Creek! a shout through hideous snarls that scratch her throat, shaking limbs holding her upright. A plea, begging, praying that perhaps he had an inkling of sense in him; Its mother was our zeta, you fucking bastard!
But regardless of whether or not he answers, whether or not he listens — he had attacked her and lunged for Mae. An innocent. He had tried to steal a fucking baby.
For that, all of it, he deserved the wrath of God.
Eshe, go! it comes out as a command as her gaze scans for her packmate, thunder snarling overhead. Her wolves needed her, needed a figurehead when Akavir and Arric were not present. find-- find Mae and get her home and tell somebody to put the Creek on lockdown!
Him.
She makes another leap for his neck, scarlet blooming now across her face as she shakes, violently thrashing, a flurry of cat and mouse and son and daughter; she tears, gnashes; and all she can do is pray to every possible deity that she will bring him to justice.