Bramblepoint Withering

He screamed in anger, his voice growing hoarse as he ran out of breath, only to draw in another, warm it with rage, and belt it out across the plains again and again until he could manage little more than a long, whispery shriek. He spluttered as tears ran down his cheeks and he imagined the persecution of those who were guilty; and found them incapable of offering him anything that would ever settle the debt. That should have been enough to make him realize there was no reason in making sure they knew they were guilty- but he wanted the acknowledgement and the pity nonetheless. He wanted an overflowing river of apologies even though it would never be enough to lift and cause his grief to float away. 

He turned abruptly and as he did, he caught sight of silver fur. He, like all the others, still dreaded the fearsome cat that still prowled the wilderness and without a second to rethink who or what it was that he saw, his fight-or-flight response completely bailed on him. Suddenly, his voice returned and he opened his mouth as wide as he could and screeched in terror.