Hushed Willows [m] Mental Wounds

a third. a third, who he soon recognized as kyrell; his pack seemed to be swarming the intruder like a nest of hornets, and boone swelled with pride and adrenaline.
when he looked toward the assailant's face, met the silversmoke eyes; the panic and rage began to drift toward the reaper calling him home. in that instant, boone made a decision.
this man will not die mercifully. he will freeze in the harsh snow, alone, bleeding, and hungry; he will go back to the earth from whence he came a husk of his former self. and if he were to live long enough for it, he will know true regret.
that's enough! as boone's grip is released, spittle and blood fly from his jowls. panting, heaving, spewing venom that he hadn't known existed within him, his paw slams down on the side of the ghostly head in order to hold him down — to show his own power. power that was given freely, power not stolen from innocents. true, just power.
y'know what this fucker did, fellas? huh? the harbinger's expression was horrifyingly cold. he sought to truly, truly punish; to humiliate. he thought he could rape one of our women and get away with it.
seething, boone's claws dig into skin; cold, wet and surely agonizing. y'wanna leave here alive, mister? yer gonna tell her yer fuckin' sorry, and yer gonna mean it.