don't run from me

Heavy paws carried the black-coated form of the eldest Hroovitnisson to the blood-scented plain. Thick ears - or what was left of them, flicked back at the stench, and his chest began to rumble with a deep, unbidden growl. He was no stranger to the scent of blood, Hati, but it brought back memories. Memories of old battles, raids, slaughters, the cracking of bones... flinching back from the feel of his own brother's leg fracturing between his teeth, sickened, forced to continue the fight anyway or have his own leg broken. Defying his father as a pup and finding himself dangling by the throat from his father's jaws, the teeth squeezing tighter, tighter... Memories of his teeth tearing through his father's throat as he writhed on the ground beneath him. Memories that he'd come here to drown with more blood and the hot fire of battle. The only way to stop the waking nightmares from consuming him was to replace them with nightmares of his own making.

Muzzle tipped toward the sky, a howl thick with need and anger tearing from his throat, a demand that some opponent appear to battle. The sound dwindled to a throaty wail, then silence, as his head lowered. Gold eyes glared in the dimness of the twilight hour, that thin space of time between the sun's setting and true dark. He was ready.



"Speech"

And besides in the meantime
I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart