The Heartwood man was born to sin, set him free and he will be a sinner

lets goooo ;D @Hydra

The blood of his kill stains his muzzle, contrasting startlingly against his pearl white coat as Vaati stands alert within the haunted wood. He tosses the hare to the side, throwing it in a pile of other vermin that would soon fill his caches. The day closes to an end, the sun due to meet the very edges of the known land in about an hour, and he works quickly digging another bunker-esque hole in the ground in preparation in the event that Blackfeather Woods is scattered in the coming war. Plans have been made and escape routes set, a secondary location identified as Blackfeather's eventual home, should the circumstances cause it.

He blinks heavily under his scarred eye, peering into the dark ever so often as he works, knowing that he lingers in dangerous territory. Enemies to the south, enemies to the west and east. Enemies of enemies that all want him dead. And for what? Because many months ago he had done something stupid once, and now a simple mistake had suddenly condemned him to death? Rannoch could be no less than royalty to warrant multiple packs avenging a scar. Perhaps they are bored, he thinks sardonically, knowing that Blackfeather themselves had caused a similar mayhem for much less. In truth, while Vaati had attempted to kill Rannoch for very little reason, he did not need one. He did not owe anyone an explanation, and in time, he would see that those who held the self-involved audacity to make threats against him regret profoundly the decision to do so.

It was a scent that could not be forgotten. 

Her anger toward Vaati had long since faded, but she was a woman of principle. Both she and Vaati knew something needed to be done about the mess he had made. Now it was less about the mess and more about where he had made it. Somehow, she knew the enemy well enough to know that he would come where unwelcome—it was the character trait of any villain, was it not, to test the waters, to see how far they could go. 

She had let him wonder for long enough, she decided. Wander, too. 

Out from the woods she came, mute as her fangs revealed themselves and her foreleg reached out to sweep him off his feet to start with. She realized as she attacked that she had lost the desire to kill him, but, well, she had an obligation to fulfill. Vaati would not know it, of course—even she just realized it, after all—but she would let him think it for a while longer. It would all be over soon.

Her attack is swift and clean, silent as she sweeps his feet from under him and sends him crashing to the ground under an unholy fury of fang and claw. Yet, aside from the mild shock of how abrupt the attack was, he remained far too unfazed than one should under the circumstance. Perhaps it was because he had spent too long acknowleding and accepting his doomed mortality and the simplicity of it, to the point where her attack did not do anything to suprise him. He did not fear death as death itself decended upon him, and perhaps that was what caused him to disagree with the notion that he should go without a fight, as if he had stood for nothing this whole time. Vaati was innocent of anything besides doing what he had brought into the world being; a son of a titan and an enchantress combined. How was his genes not a recipe for utter chaos and disaster in itself? He had been taught to accept the notion of killing since the moment he could comprehend it, and yet he was still told to be held accountable and be punished for the mere task of attempting to kill when he was still a child without a cause? The instinct to do so was bred and born into his very being, and to be told to apologize for it was an insult of the highest degree. Vaati would bend the knee for none, and as he lays under the fury of the Cerberus, the realization that he would die without honour very soon begins to sink in. It was a wonder he had time to consider these facts as Hydra tore into his skin, and yet another wonder as he was able to accept the delayed response of an adrenaline rush kicking into his system. Pulling himself from under her wrath, he returns with a fury of his own to the fight over the rights of his life, turning to her withas much defiance as he could muster with a look to say as if: Is that all you've got? He was a villian indeed, as Hydra believed. But he had never claimed to be otherwise. Releasing a lethal snarl, he returns the gesture and launches himself at the tender area of her neck, his intent to kill evident as he does not bother with tiring her out first. Perhaps he would die at her hands that day, but he would not make it easy for her.

Ultimately, it would be his inexperience that cost him. The man was on his back and reached for an area that was not vulnerable upon her as she, on all fours, was well and able to protect. Her parted jowls protected the swanlike throat she was certain he wished to grip and crush, and his fangs met the bridge of her muzzle. She was not able to avoid his fangs completely, and as he thrashed Hydra willfully ignored him as she adjusted her position to strike at his own throat. Snapping jaws be damned, she would do to him as he had done to Rannoch—she cared not what he did to the rest of the wilds, but he would not touch what was hers. There was little passion to her movements, but it was expert and precise; she knew what she was doing, she had done it too many times before... only, more. 

You see, technically, Rannoch was no longer hers. His union with Liffey meant that. Liffey could avenge Rannoch. Hydra was only protecting her mountain and what lay beyond it. She did not think she needed to kill Vaati anymore to accomplish that. Only strike him down, and have him see that she was in charge here. That she was passionate about, and if he thought to struggle more, she might very well kill him then. If she were able to reach his throat at all, he would come to realize quickly enough she did not seek to seize it—only to tear and savage. 

He might even feel as Rannoch had that day, if she succeeded. But Hydra would not go so far as that; she did not want him to lose so much blood as to pass out. No, she would need him awake.

It was indeed his inexperience that cost him. He had all the potential, in size and in instinctive skill, yet, she was better. And he knew it. He knew there was a slim chance that he would actually survive, and he accepted it, but would not simply lie down accept defeat so early when he was not yet tired of the fight. And she knew it. Yet again she regains the upper hand, pulling him down and seeking what he calls the "danger zone", the spot he had picked when attempting to kill Rannoch. Ironically, or perhaps purposefully, she seemed to be targeting there exactly, her fangs ebbing closer and closer the longer their struggle continued. He fights her on it, his claws reaching any grip it could get and seeking to tear while his teeth clash against hers as echoing snarls pass between them. It is a power struggle, one of the more ceremonious brawls he has had with what he deems a worthy opponent. They continue, and the struggle weans tedious, and ultimately, he wonders what her endgame is. Did she truly intend to kill him when she reached his neck or simply force him into submission, or to make him feel the way Rannoch had that day. He didn't plan to, but for a quick second does he turn his neck in the direction of Blackfeather Woods, thinking of those within who need him, those who would be left unguarded if he was to die. Maegi. It was a mistake to do so, as that quick second opened up an opportunity of an unguarded neck in Hydra's favour; a slip in Vaati's dexterity. He realizes so with wide eyes and does not get the chance to return his eyes to hers.

It is a game of cat and mouse between them, and it is terribly clear who is who. Hydra has all of the patience of a saint, and beneath her was a terrible devil who let his mind wander at the wrong time. She noted it immediately, and oh, did she seize it! Hydra was over him in a flash; he need not look to know, to feel. Her practiced fangs raked into him time and time again as she sought to rip the flesh from him as he had done to the Frostfur that day. The ruthless energy she exerts is monstrous, and she gives no quarter; but, once finished, Hydra ceases and desists.

Blood dripping from her jowls, she removes herself from his person. She does not look unlike him moments ago, but now it is she that has finished with her prey. Hydra shakes out her furs and stares at him, mutely satisfied for a time. After some time does pass, she decrees, our score is settled, so long as you remain far away from Moonspear and harm none of my own. She had bigger fish to fry, now. A runaway boy, to start with. He had been a killer. Unintentional though it was, Hydra's way this day was a life for a life... and a wound for a wound. The one Vaati bore was near identical to Rannoch's. Hydra licked her chops, her muzzle smarting from Vaati's own teeth's mark. Surely she was bruised elsewhere, but his own claws had been blunt enough to prevent terrible bloodshed. She had his loamy forest floor to thank for this. 

One wrong move from the Caldera's own dictated her next words. A wolf from the Caldera killed my sister. Did you have anything to do with this? She asked next, knowing this would catch him off-guard, and knowing this was the best way to get the truth. His exhaustion from the fight would not do him any favors—her eyes were hard as she read his features. If he did, then one of the cubs of his pack would pay in kind—that was the way of things. And that runaway wolf would be killed, too—collateral damage needed to be disposed of.

casually invades for the drama

He had woken with a start from a poor sleep and a bad dream - he could still see the silhouette of a bird in his mind's eye and feel the pounding of the blood in his veins, but the message had faded as soon as his eyes were open. The panic had not. Screech was on his feet and bolting from the caldera without a word to anyone; he didn't look for Cassiopeia, he didn't say goodbye to Raven, he bypassed anyone in his way as he fled from his home and ricochet through the bramblewood until he was in the clear.

The scent of the lake in the air made him think of the massive Lake Rodney that bordered home, and that seemed to spur him on, send him on another path to the northeast; the boy was on the eastern side of the Heartwood when he finally came to a stop and was a panting mess. The boy's fate was doomed to be unnaturally bad however; no sooner had he stopped and regained his breath (even started to slow his pulse) did he hear the snarling of two beasts in combat. Against his better judgement (which come to think of it, Titmouse desperately lacked any kind of judgement to begin with) he decided to investigate.

That feeling of dread he felt did not abate. If anything, when his eyes locked upon the agitated figures - a duality of black versus white - his breath hitched in his throat. The shadow was saying, ..killed my sister, and yet he could not zero-in on that face nor that voice. He saw Vaati and, much as he had reacted towards Awinita only a day or so prior, the boy froze in place and merely stared.

The events of the previous few days flashed before his eyes: finding Cassiopeia in the snow, escaping to the mountains, the white girl laying dead at his feet, the panic of his escape from a hungry Cerberus -- and then Vaati, his face, and only his face, while the shadow paced around him.

In very little time, it was done. To say the least, Vaati was left quite confused. She had taken blood and skin from him, left him quite broken and exhausted and willing for death, but stood above him and claimed their debt had been settled. Had his debt not already been settled when she had nearly taken his eye? Was her attack not purely out of sport like Charon led him to believe? Vaati, post-almost death, finds it very difficult to believe that he had spent this whole time fearing a little scratch rather than her bringing him an early death. "I never hurt one of your own in the first place," He spits out blood as he says so, turning to her with both confused and angered eyes, whilst he picks himself up. He had evidently been cheated, tricked into believing she wanted his life this whole time. If he had known all she wanted was to give him a silly scar, he would have marched up to her on Moonspear's borders months ago instead of isolating himself within Blackfeather's shadows and living in a constant state of anticipation. He had practically willingly put himself in solitary confinement for months, just to have her taste a bit of his blood? "That's it?" He asks baffled, disbelieving and almost offended. Wincing at the discomfort, the pain in his neck would grow in a similar fashion that the scar on his eye had progressed only, while he didn't know it yet, the bit she had tore out of him was much, much bigger than he could presently tell. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins blocked out the majority of the white-hot ache he would feel the next morning, and yet, he almost taunts her on. 

But the tide soon shifts (much to his continued bafflement), and she asks of him something quite peculiar. He almost spits in her face and tells her to go to hell after all the needless worry she and her threats had caused him, but halts before he has the chance. He was not about to be framed for something he did not do, "No." But the wheels of recognition churn and his head and he recalls a particular Caldera wolf that had the pleasantries of waltzing through Blackfeather's 5-star guest services. He had not gotten the stranger's name, other than the singular noticeable quality about him. "The loud one?" 

As far as he knew, the little screeching shit had taken Cassiopeia.
"I don't know him, but I'll kill him." 

Hydra was amused by his reaction. I do not feel like killing you, she admitted plainly, but I can, if that is your wish, her eyes flash as she speaks the words. She need not speak convincing words; he would know it to be true from their encounter but seconds ago. He overestimates himself even then, though she is keenly aware of her upper hand. As to his first statement, Hydra licked a fang. Rannoch is family, she pressed, Mine. She lets him interpret that as he will. What was his? Not hers—Liffey? Kill the spare. 

Loud one. Towhee had been loud, this wolf? A yellow-bellied cur that fled before saying a word. Hydra verbally described the wolf to him, and Vaati recognized him as The Loud One. Interesting. Hydra was intrigued. He didn't know him, and he would kill him! Oh! This was brilliant. He should be easy to kill, Hydra murmured lowly, words for him only to hear as she drew nearer. and he is a wolf I will see dead. Though I will leave the killing blow to you, Hydra's low tones were in earnest. To speak the words made it so. 

There was much she wished to discuss with Vaati, and she opened her jowls to speak once more, but a chittering sound of a woodland creature gave her pause. It seemed there was no hesitance on her part as she waited for a beat and, yes, ah, there it was again—one ear cupped, and Hydra shifted her weight and pressed one ear forward, while the other rotated and twitched. All this in a series of seconds, though her own movement beckoned what was next.

At their calls, the Crown Princess beckoned with infinitesimal twitches of her ears. A feeling that might be called love but for how deep it ran welled up inside her (as it often did when she moved in one mind with her sisters) as she slipped into view. Her movements were purposefully languid, sinuous. She'd moved past her anger at Vaati, and now she saw only a strong male, pale like her father, who'd almost succeeded in slaying one of her enemies. Would have succeeded if not for the intervention of their combined and superior force.

And now, Alya used her force to sweep in behind him, rage fettered only by well-remembered oaths, too deep for words to know. Masks, she thought, moving alongside Lyra to propell him into Hydra's line of sight, a low, soothing croon at the back of her throat.

She stopped just beyond Hydra, well within Vaati's view, a smile equal parts mystery and welcome on her ink-dark face. This smile, slight and vague though it was, had been practiced for hours in front of her sisters and on various victims, willing and unwilling alike. One might liken it to the Mona Lisa, if not for the edge of something dark and writhing that danced just behind her eyes.

They circled like sharks as their warrior sister fought the silver-haired demon, vigilant sentinels ready to alert the lead head of the Cerberus should anything go awry. They roamed in the shadows, just out of sight of the warring wolves, passing each other and exchanging glances as they did so — Lyra's downcast, anxious gaze contrasting Alya's roguish, almost playful one. Sounds of the skirmish, the snarls and tearing of flesh, set her on edge and the girl was eager to check on their sister. Hydra's command of them to stay and guard overrode her worry, however, along with Alya's soothing murmurs as they prowled the area.

Her ears twisted forward as the noises subsided, and the dark girl's voice rang out, victorious. Our score is settled. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief, catching Vaati's faint but baffled words. She would have been more pleased to see him dead, bleeding out at their feet, but she knew Hydra had plans for him yet. Her lust for revenge for Rannoch had died out — he was family, that was it — only for it to be replaced with a new seething hatred for the cowardly boy who had run from them. He was still guilty of murder, to the Cerberus, the how and why was not of importance. The fact that he had done it (in their eyes, misguided as they were) was enough.

And speak of the devil.

A rustling of leaves underfoot caught her attention and the two sisters stopped in their tracks to see a boy, standing stock still with wide eyes trained on the scene before them. The fur along Lyra's spine bristled, and she let out something akin to a hiss, the very sight of him eliciting a visceral response. She would have slit his throat then and there if not for Alya's sudden sweeping movement forward, the spark in her eyes communicating what was to be done. They both let out a soft chitter, one after the other, to signal the appearance of the interloper to Hydra, knowing she would understand it. Lyra reigned in her fury, coming up beside the startled boy with a barely restrained snap of her jaws. He moved obediently while between them, his gait hesitant and slow.

When they emerged from the shadows, they then thrust him harshly before the judge and executioner, their own forms now encircling the convicted. Lyra's heart hammered in her chest so loud she worried the others would be able to hear, excitement coursing through her veins. Yet for all the emotions stirring underneath, her face remained still, calm. This was not over until this loud one was brought to justice for his crimes against Moonspear.

He wanted to pull his eyes away from the sight of that malevolent ghost and his shadow, but he could not. When he finally noticed the dark figure of Hydra he saw Cassiopeia instead - a trick of the light making this healthy and stalwart girl look more like his enfeebled friend, at least for a second. His heart felt like it was cracking in two. But there was a noise next to him, a rustling, followed by the sharpness of teeth raking through his fur; when the boy looked to his side he saw another shadow, then another. He was surrounded by Cassiopeia look-alikes and, petrified, they herded him out of his hiding place.

When Screech was thrust in to the light he made a noise like a mewling cat. The light burned for a second and left blotches across his vision, but soon enough everything cleared. The trio of dark sisters - plus Vaati - had all of their attention trained upon him. Although Screech felt as if his legs were going to buckle then and there he refused to let them. Rather, he stood with his tail curled against his belly and his head low, and sort of shuffled his weight from paw to paw like he was trying to hold back from pissing himself.

His brow raises at Hydra's possessive, one-worded claim over his almost-victim. Him and her? Rannoch, who had always come across like a big marshmallow and this woman who seemed like she could singlehandedly raise hell on earth and very much wanted to? He couldn't see it. Perhaps he didn't want to. But his attention is soon dragged away as the loud one himself is pulled from the shadows and shoved into the circle discussing his death, guarded closely by the rest of the Cerberus, but not for his protection. Looking rather distressed it is evident that, surrounded by those he had royally pissed off, the Redhawk kid knew quite well the situation he had landed himself into. Vaati shared his sentiment of being surrounded by the three weird sisters. Something about the trio together unsettles him, knowing that in their collective midst, he is outnumbered and completely at their mercy as Hydra implied. That, and the simple fact that they were creepy as fuck. For Vaati to find someone else to be that unerving was something quite profound, coming from the him who spent the majority of his life living in the shadows. His eyes move from Hydra to the Redhawk boy, standing to his feet and silently asking if she truly wanted him dead. Of course she did, for the matter of the Caldera bretheren's death was not something to kid on. It was a act of war in and of itself. But if Hydra wanted him dead, he would do it. It was an arrangement he could get used to.

What comes from the shadows are the two wolves she loves most in the world bar herself, and, between them, the coward. Murderer, she snarled, her face morphing to cold rage. She prepared to storm forward, to ruin—but she senses the electricity snapping between her sisters and this man, and her gaze fell to Lyra. It had been she who had lingered next to the dead body of Galaxy. She who found her dead. Her heart ached for poor Lyra—how terrible for her! And now to stand by the killer... 

Her gaze shifted to Vaati. He was in no state to off the coward now, not as he stood. She was terribly aware she could kill them both by setting Vaati upon him then and there, but that did not appeal to her at all. She noted Alya and her flirty disposition, and she knew she would spare him for more reason than just one. Another friend for her right-hand. Her gaze turned back to Lyra, and then to Titmouse. 

I know only that you killed my sister. She will not see another day, Hydra mourned her openly now, and paused for a brief moment of silence. This was her wake, as proclaimed by the head of the Cerberus. Hydra stepped aside, so that now, Titmouse was surrounded entirely. Though you... you will see tomorrow. But for the future she can no longer witness... Lyra—his eye is yours to take. It was you who saw her dead, and who did not call—if ever that happens again, you call, she decreed and commanded, and on that note, she surged forward before any would have time to think. Between herself and Alya, he was held down, and her paw pressed against his larynx. One ear-twitch symbolized that Lyra ought to wait. She was not done. Your innocence has fled you, just as you flee from your wrongdoings—and so you owe us your innocent firstborn, too, so that you might know the pain you have inflicted unto our kin. If you tell anyone of this day, of what happened, I will ensure that everything you love is destroyed, she vowed quietly, and then her fangs moved to hold him down by his throat, keen to throttle him but not cause damage he would never recover from. That was Lyra's deed today; she simply sought to help hold him still, as Alya would, too. 

Blood would satisfy Lyra, as would her words which were her oath. One ear cupped to listen for the sound of Vaati.

Permission granted to skip Alya!

The grey creature cowered beneath their gazes, a meek, pathetic thing that Lyra could only describe as a rat. Her nose wrinkled as she took him in, glancing up to see Hydra almost unleash her wrath upon the boy. She didn't blame her. She too wanted to tear him limb from limb, to see him struggle for his last breath just as Galaxy had done. Lyra didn't even want to know how he had done it, how he had murdered their innocent sister with so little bloodshed. She only knew that he would pay dearly for it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vaati shift. She could tell he had his own grievances with the boy, and was willing to partake in his punishment — even end his life himself — but Lyra lusted for the murderer's blood. Despite Hydra's promise, she wanted him for herself. She set the Blackfeather brute in her gaze, noting the blood pooling at his neck and cascading down the white fur of his chest. As big of a wolf as he was, to lose that much blood was surely taxing. He would collapse if he exerted himself, anyway.

Lyra's tail twitched in anticipation as Hydra spoke to the apparent loud creature among them. He was certainly quiet now. Her sister's order that he would live caused a spark of anger in her chest to flare once before quickly simmering down into an ember. No, he did not deserve death. An eye. The triplet couldn't help but let the corner of her lip curve into a smile. Her warrior sister could be poetic sometimes. She stared down at the whimpering boy, trying to decide which side of his face she wanted to maim before Hydra fell upon him in a single movement, a flick of her ear staying Lyra for the moment.

A firstborn. Lyra looked to Alya, wondering if that was a demand made specifically for her. Not that she minded. A child in exchange for a child, and an eye for an eye. And if it turned out to be as pathetic as its father, the Cerberus were not above disposing of the spare. As Hydra dove for his throat, the boy began to squirm and twist, though his cries would be strangled by her sister's jaws. Alya clamped her own set of fangs upon him, holding him still enough to allow Lyra to slink to where his thrashing head was in her full view. She was silent and blank as she stared, head tilting slightly as she took a moment to decide, before she struck like a snake, teeth finding their way into his eye socket with surgical precision..and pulled.

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He was too afraid to speak and rather, spent his time trembling between the shadows. He did not know what to do with himself as the girl began to talk to him (or maybe of him, because it felt like he was witnessing something rather than participating in it); shyly Screech looked at Vaati, nervous of what may transpire if he lingered too long with the focus on the pale wolf - but he saw that the guy was all beaten up. These wolves from Moonspear really meant business! They'd found Vaati and worn him down, maybe they had prepared to kill him just before he'd interrupted? Just my luck, he thought, Vaati is alive because I'm a big fucking distraction.

But the wrath of the Cerberus was upon him now. Hydra spoke cooly, and while Screech felt the urge to correct her misinformation (squirming in his spot already), he couldn't make his tongue work. All he could do was sit there and stare while she outlined his doom: and then, the sisters swept in and grabbed for him. This was when he finally began to fight back. The boy made a strangled noise as he was grabbed, kicked and flailed, writhed in their grasp like a salmon beneath the talons of an eagle.

The dream that had startled him awake finally, painfully, resurfaced: The black of raven's wings blotting out the sun, (one of the shadows had him pinned with their weight across his back) a sharp black profile of a beak opening, turning, opening, turning, (Ayla on the other side grabbing and tearing, pushing him in to place for her sister) the raven has three heads and as they open their beaks, all he can see are teeth and blood, and the white of their many eyes. (Hydra grabbing his throat -)

Nnnhmg! Screech protests against their teeth, his eyes wide and filled with terror. They have him right where they want him and he knows he will not escape, but he tried anyways. He manages to open his mouth and gasp for air, and his rough voice grates through the dark, Ddn -- ddn duh et -- Pless, but his mind is swimming, pounding with each thump of his racing heart. He can't get the words out and cannot tell them of his innocence - but it doesn't matter. Lyra stands before him deciding on which eye she wishes to take from him and he can't help but hear a voice in his mind comment, she looks just like a bird.

Then there is only pain. The birds wintering in the trees around them burst like shrapnel from the boughs and scatter when he lets out a strangled scream. From there, things got more than strange: he could see with painful clarity the faces of his assailants through one eye, and yet through the other he could view their scrambling paws, the dirt mixed with snow, and a profuse amount of blood spreading across the ground with an acuity that indicated his eye had been removed, but not damaged, at least not yet.

Vaati stands cooly, watching as one of the sisters removes a bloodied orb from the screaming boy's head. It was interesting, that Hydra should claim an eye for an eye, but also the prize of the victim's first-born. It would have been easier, cleaner to simply slit his throat. But to extend the man's lifetime, where he would have ample time to plan and prepare a counter attack? Hydra's command seemed to be a transaction that he could only see going south eventually, but nevertheless, he does not question the killer's punishment. He does not question the nature of his crime either, not that whether or not Titmouse was innocent or not mattered to him. Perhaps it was a good thing that the other sister had done the deed, for it would prove trivial if Vaati had been the one to take the Redhawk's eye, further stretching the tensions that existed between the two packs that lingered too close together. Casting his gaze to Hydra, he awaits her next move; sitting down upon his hind legs as the blood-loss begins to drain him of energy. He looks for any indication that she is not yet done with him, needing to know what her next intentions would be to decide whether or not now was the time to pull himself out of the situation while he still could.

Hydra squeezed his throat as he struggled to silence him, up until the moment he fell limp in her jaws. She withdrew then, observing him—ah, still breathing, good. She had only knocked him out. Hydra was unaware that one could do that, but it was good knowledge to know. Hydra turned on her heel, not stepping on the whole of the eyeball but stepping on some of it—it did not yet detach and rolled toward Lyra as Hydra again heeded Vaati. 

She licked her chops. I am sure you know that we are not the only wolves that had been after you, she informed. I would leave your forest if I were you. But that, like this wolf, I leave to you... he looked woozy; she was certain his interest would be on preserving his own life and returning home before it would be killing Titmouse at this point. Titmouse, the wolf she had let survive; it was a thing she permitted for more than one reason. Messy, maybe—but one would be very foolish not to assume that Hydra had not thought this out. After all, she had wanted Titmouse for a while now. To not kill him? A calculated risk. One she knew, at the end of the day, to be worth it. 

Dead men couldn't talk, and there was a neatness to that Hydra could appreciate. That everyone knew Hydra could appreciate. And therein lay the crux of it. But, if Vaati wanted to kill him? He could do as he pleased. The pissant had, after all, killed Galaxy. He deserved death. To stay her own hand was difficult. 

Hydra gave him a once over. Are you able to return home? Without assistance? An ear flick. She wondered; he did not look in great shape.

An eyes was removed, and the boy's body went slack. Alya removed her jaws from his person and stepped distastefully over his body, moving to stand just behind Hydra. She was covered in the scent of Rannoch's assailant - a scent she found not altogether unpleasant.

"I can help him across the plains," she offered, sure that she could escape the man if he turned on her - along with anyone who might accost her as she drew closer. She was not above leaving a bleeding man in the wilderness to save her own hide. "We'll be careful," she added, the dryest of humors working its way into her tone.

While the boy's anguished cries filled the air, Lyra nary flinched. She felt the eyeball be pulled free from his skull — it was firmer than she thought it would be — and dropped it unceremoniously upon the ground. It rolled, bounced, and yanked on the fleshy chain that kept it attached to Titmouse's face before coming to a stop against his cheek. The girl looked up, tongue swiping at the smear of blood upon the side of her muzzle, and watched as Hydra released her grip on the younger wolf. His head fell limply to one side and, for a moment, she thought her sister had killed him. But no. The boy was still breathing. He would wake once the adrenalin ran out and pain set in.

The trio turned their attention then back to Vaati who still stood, surprisingly. How long would he last, she wondered. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra noticed Hydra nonchalantly cast aside Titmouse's eyeball as she turned to face the Blackfeather man. Intrigued, she gently pawed at it as they spoke. The nerve was still connected and Lyra leaned down to inspect it, wondering if the boy would bleed out if she were to sever the thin cord. A small smile played on her lips as Alya jumped at the chance to escort him home and she tried to catch her flirty sibling's eye. Don't toy with him too much.

sorry guys i forgot it was my turn ;_;

Run, she says. Flee. A weakling's act. He shakes his head with a low, gruff snarl audible on his tongue. "We do not run." If Blackfeather Woods -- if he -- is to die, he will be doing so on his own grounds. He will die amongst the shadows he was born out of, and his bones will rest with those of his grandmother's in the glen of blood-red roses. Vaati Clavicus Melonii is not a coward, after all. 

Resting most of his weight on the shoulder of Hydra's keen sister, he nods once in parting to the woman who had once, some 15 minutes ago, been his enemy. How easy it was to forget what bad blood lied between them while they shared something mutual to invest their hate in. Of course, he could never forget how she had hunted him down for months, leaving him waiting for death in a state of perpetual anxiety for more than half his childhood in days. But was there not a curious saying to keep friends close and enemies even closer? Vaati had no friends, so enemies would have to do, he figured.

Casting his glance down to the woman of equal, void-like fur to her carnivorous sister, he wonders who she is to want to jump at the chance to guide him home; what is her motive? Nevertheless, he is in no position to refuse and aided by her, begins the long, humiliating trek home to the dark woods.