Bearclaw Valley bear with me

Closing in behind Merrick and Astara, Taylor muscles through the undergrowth, thick with dusk. He is kinetic, made up of vectors that constantly push and pull. His eyes are two punched holes into mania. There is a barely suppressed urge under his face— the urge to kill, the urge of having killed. 
Wordlessly, he appraises the trespasser. Bear-like, darker than the shade, but only by a few degrees. Already, he's thinking of the trajectory he's going to take. The angle of incidence of his teeth into the skin.
Merrick's voice runs a jagged path up his spine. A heartbeat going wild under a tactical vest. His hackles are already raised, his teeth already bared.