Sun Mote Copse Run Down

the fighting needles at rasalas’ fight or flight instinct that hinders too much, presently, on flight. it reminds him of how the wolves of the thieves had bickered and snapped at one another; frequently. they often left each other bloody and with bits of ear of chunks of flesh missing — evidenced by the wounds on his face. initiation they’d called it. punishment, rasalas knew they’d really meant.

fennec and niamh didn’t draw blood but it ends with hostility snapping in the air with cruel words the blind girl spits at his caretaker. the male returns, inspects his wounds, and sits some plants in front of him assuring him that they’ll help ease the pain. rasalas sniffs at them curiously, uncertain, but eventually begins to nibble on one cautiously.