death is like a one way ticket to a distant star

It didn't even occur to Kuroki that they ought to use the snow, that something, anything, was better than paws with plenty of gaps for blood to seep through. For all his laidback nature he did not have a gentle touch or healing paws, through ill intent or not he seemed to destroy and damage everything his talons touched. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the flecks of snow falling in slow-motion as he wondered if this was to be his fate all along. He wanted to follow in his Father's footsteps, to be a shinobi and warrior. To do what needed to be done. But could Kuroki really do that? Was there even a slither of a chance he could grow to be half of a man his sire was? The prince was still a child, soft around the edges and with all the naivety that came with his age but the few times Hattori had described his childhood to him made it feel as though they were raised worlds apart. Kuroki was weak in all the ways the Shogun was not and that...it made him feel bad. Terrible beyond words. Except that once Kuroki had asked in passing how many his Father had killed, this was long before the concept of death really sank in, long before this aching and terrible moment. And all Hattori had said, in complete and utter seriousness, was enough.

Maybe it wasn't something anyone got used to. Maybe it was awful every single time.

The prince's gaze snapped to Kit, almost baffled as she abandoned her station and took charge, as though she stood a chance against those beasts. Sure she was a great wrestling partner, one of the best in Kuroki's not so humble opinion but just WHAT was she doing? His paws fumbled, gripping the snow between his toes as he hastily tried to seal up the shredded flesh and skin of the stranger, only to let out a snarl of frustration as he clambered over the still brown form of their patient. The man let out a wisp of a grunt at the pressure, he was holding on barely and didn't seem to much appreciate all their efforts. Not that Kuroki really noticed. The best way to put it was...sensory overload, to much too many things at once with only the big picture managing to remain at the forefront of his mind. Barely.

"Kit no!" He shouted as loud as lungs would allow but the wind seemed to steal his voice, cast it aside as though his words meant nothing. He pressed his shivering form against her, shoulder to shoulder as he adjusted his stance and squinted against the freezing gale. Two snarling voices were better than one and if this was the approach they had to take then it would be better to be together. And if nothing else they'd gain strength and warmth from the other's form, not feel so alone. "Go away! Leave!"

The shadows loomed closer, paying little to no heed if they even could hear them.