Fox's Glade [m] Two Birds, no Stone

He could not stop thinking relentlessly in the ways that blood could soak the cold mud. He could not stop thinking, even, of how his own would feel slipping between his feet, and how hers would stained on top of his tongue if it stayed there long enough. Savage, mindless teeth into her skin, her flesh, her body; spirit, if he could pierce that too.

With a bite dug into her throat, before his teeth could puncture all the way through, before his jaw could lock to a close, he let go. Cringing back away! Slinking with an arched frame, his tail fled to the scars ripped into his stomach! Bonnie refused to look any longer, to engage within these acts while she laid still upon the ground.

It was then that the hitches of his own breath cracked shambled air. His eyes stung through a messy blur, and the silhouette of sinking tears were hidden behind his legs. The pyre of his chest was ablaze, and it burned. Oh, god, how it burned, and his legs trembled. God, his chest. His chest!