Herbalists' Cache cen

chaos. this is chaos. snarls, the snap of jaws, the cries of agony—it seems the war had already begun, without the help of the clan in the glacier her cousins were so afraid of. her veins sing with wrath, an age old and primal melody. whale-eyed—least with the eye she can still use—watching as her queen launches herself at her husband. 

she cannot marvel in the sight of morwenna spilling blood long overdue. she cannot join her to tear her cousin apart. and she cannot step in to save ishmira or the pups that are now in the middle of the fray. a bellow of a snarl is torn from the depths of her lungs as meleys makes a counter attack. lunging for her throat. 

black hawk is fast, honed. she retracts away before those yellow fangs can sink into her flesh. a tuft of her cinnamon fur now stuck between the woman's jaws. her eye burns, but it's a distant feeling now, as rage drives her. it's all she can feel; not pain, not panic. 

just white-hot rage. the tank of a woman moves to her cousin's flank. barreling against her, teeth finding her back to pierce the flesh. she bites down with the force of a warrior enraged; thrashes, squeezes. she hopes she fucking snaps that spine and leaves meley's legs useless.