Generational Trauma

His breath hitched in his throat as he was lifted off the ground, Sephiran's vice-like grip sending shocks of panic through him. His defiant front shattered instantly, replaced by pure, instinctual fear. His vision blurred as he was unceremoniously dumped in front of a small hole covered in snow. The second his paws hit the frosty earth, he felt a low, ominous vibration echo through the ground beneath him. His heart pounded in his chest, and a cold sweat broke out on his fur. Looking up, he saw Sephiran standing a safe distance away, an expectant look in his eyes.

Realization dawned on him and he turned to face the threat. He found himself staring into a pair of black, beady eyes, set deep into a snarling face. The badger was as big as he was, its fur standing on end in a show of aggression. His breaths came out in short sharp intakes, his body rigid with terror. In the face of this imminent danger, his dominating nature succumbed to raw survival instinct. He couldn't outrun the badger; he had no choice but to fight.

With a guttural snarl, Xairo launched himself at the badger. His small body crashed into the enraged mother, the force propelling them both backward. Their bodies grappled, a whirlwind of snarls and snapping jaws. Xairo, despite his youth and inexperience, moved with frantic energy, his small teeth sinking into the badger's thick hide. It was like fighting with his siblings, but nothing to hold him back. Nobody telling him not to be so rough. Being rough was all he could manage here. He could taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth and feel the stinging pain of the badger's claws raking across his flank. His green eyes blazed with ferocity as he writhed and tore and bit with wild abandon. No real plan. No real strategy. Just simply hit as hard as he could.


"Xairo Saxe"