we do talk about fight club

It was Kor's characteristic racket that dragged his attention back towards the centre of the Ravine and away from staring at the livestock that grazed out on the moor. There was such a conflict in the boy, if he was supposed to protect them then why was he filled with such a visceral urge to stain the moors red and roll in the results? Nature was at war within the boy, two competing genetic purposes tearing him apart from the inside out. A heavy weight for such young shoulders, currents too deep for a child to understand.

Something thumped about in the basket aggressively as Kor moved to brandish a branch at the critter. His front end dropped reflexively, vibrant eyes locked onto the flash of white fur where it had tried to pry apart the woven reeds of the basket, nose working a million miles an hour. Musty, predatory, threat. The fur behind his dense mane stood on end, teeth clenched and lips pulling back to reveal the tips of his teeth.

"speech"