Herbalists' Cache sleeping mist

sun eater is unhappy. how did blackfell know? was it the comment about nagruk? or was it a power thing? he searches the man's face, looks upon his one eye that may as well be dead, and then his face contorts into something angry.

it is the comment of nagruk that drives it home.

black hawk refutes, and blackfell finds himself standing taller, jutting his chin out, feeling his flanks heave faster with the furious breaths he gulps down.

we kill when i say.

no! he shouts. saliva bubbling at the corners of his mouth, red eyes growing bloodshot with a rage that unfurls, consumes. i kill when i kill. that is his way. that is his truth. this allegiance—fraying as it was—meant nothing. he was his own man. and now, he was beginning to realize.

beginning to grow disdain. you are a fool. it comes as a hiss, and he stalks a foot closer, guard hairs rising; hackles bristling, flame coming to roar within his chest up from his gut. an insecure fool. his tongue flicks out, across his teeth that turn orange at the root, across his nose that still tastes of the man's blood.

he feels the raven at his shoulders spook, wings flapping as it takes to the sky, cawing loudly.