Silvertip Mountain thestral

astara had known the game would take this wicked turn. dragomir's mewls did nothing to loosen the calloused casing around astara's heart -- but his begging awoke something foreign in the blackbird. his mewls had been pathetic, and stirred hatred in astara. his panicked pleading was something else.

a flitting shade of empathy budded under her rough beating heart as she saw dragomir dragged, pulled -- his cries wrenching loose a part of her she had not experienced before. 

she quelled the feeling when she saw merrick's feral gaze. immediately, all form of empathy was vanquished and replaced by something instinctual: a raw and ugly pack mentality. astara did not reach for her pound of flesh, but she stood with her tail arced in excitement -- meanwhile the harrowing cries of their innocent victim (and what victim, truly, wasn't innocent?) rebounded hauntingly down the desolate cave walls.