Totoka River you need not be hanged like a dog

What could such a wretched creature as him still possess that kept him so firmly tethered to life? For indeed, he seemed unwilling to abandon the pitiful carcass that was his. Had she been in his place, Ivory Beaver would have likely pleaded, again and again, for a swift death, yet he continued to move, to struggle, and to curse! He still had enough energy to be unpleasant, his bile rising to his brain—he must surely be filled with nothing but that by now.

But in the face of such animosity, Ivory was unaccustomed to defending herself. She understood the law of claws, but when it came to the rules of language, she was unprepared for such verbal duels. Her cheeks puffed with frustration, bewildered, consumed by an emotion she could not name. The young woman paced restlessly, her steps echoing loudly as she circled the man, from left to right, then right to left, over and over again.

I— But! She growled. I was concerned for you! she barked. But you chose to act like a total jerk! She snapped louder. This was the result of trying to socialize, yet she couldn’t help this gregarious instinct within her. The Hunting Ground had severed her from the pleasure of normal interactions; she knew only flesh, instinct, and simple emotions. But deep within her, just as it had driven her sister to disappear, she yearned for more. She longed for friends, confidants, a pack—people to talk to and rely on.

And she had found herself with this detestable man.

You, drown yourself! She concluded her little outburst. Well… not in this water! In your own vomit. Drown yourself! Every fiber of her body bristling with a mixture of shame, irritation, and youthful petulance.