Foggy Bottom Way ratero

The stranger lurched back from him, but she was of no concern to him, at least for the moment—no his eyes were imploring as he looked over Silvertongue, and a rumbling growl escaped his jaws at the sight of the pinpricks of blood—a bite?

And thus—he began to maneuver her—his chest heaving in the midst of rising terror as Ibis’ cold eyes stared back at him—and when Silvertongue’s words cut to him—a viper ready to strike, it was with fire that his eyes held her own—champagne, pale and flickering—his lips lifting in a snarl as he was about to rent out his entirety to her, to beg—

— but then Wren was there, and his words were lost. A reminder that he had no place in speaking them, let alone thinking them.

She raged at him—he made to latch her paw, drawing it closer—inspecting. “Not without you,” he growled, daring her to defy that, his own terror and fear from the initial shock beginning to drift to his own anger. Why did she keep pushing him away?

“What bite is this?” His words demanded from the stranger now, sharply, even though she graciously offered her home—would it not be quicker for him to take her back to the creek? And as he drew the Sharpfang closer to him, albeit likely with force, his mouth descended, trying to suck what he assumed was venomous from such a small mark and draw it from her.