Howlkit's body feels coiled, tight with something it can't quite name. Its teeth are still bared, and the copper tang of blood lingers on its tongue, Twilightkit's blood. Now, though, Tigerkit's voice reaches it, and its supposed to understand, supposed to stop, but it's hard when everything is buzzing, when anger and fear mix until it doesn't know where one ends and the other begins. "Twilightkit doesn't taste good?" Howlkit's amber eyes narrow at that. It sounds stupid, like Tigerkit doesn't get it, but maybe she's trying. That's more than most do. But her words feel far away, muffled by the rush in its ears. It's not hungry. It wasn't about food. It was about Twilightkit—her betrayal, her false kindness. And if it thinks on it deeper, the lingering anger is how much she's liked, while Howlkit... Howlkit's always on the outside, always the one with something wrong with it. Something monstrous in it.
Tigerkit offers a bird. A bribe, like that will fix it. Like a bird could make all of this... right. Its claws flex, half-buried in the dirt, and for a moment, its gaze flickers to Twilightkit—bleeding, but alive. It lets out a low, shuddering breath, the anger draining just enough that it can think again, just enough that the tightness in its chest loosens a little. But it doesn't answer Tigerkit. Instead, it steps back a half-step as others are approaching. The fight's over, for now, but the storm inside it hasn't passed. Not really. "She got what she deserved," Howlkit mutters, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Because that's the truth he knows—betrayal deserves retribution. She tried to take something she gave to it, and it rightfully made her pay.
As Bayingkit makes herself known, the anger starts to burn once more. Bayingkit tries to attack, to follow Twilightkit's lead and smack it with open claws. Howlkit watches it all unfold with a low, simmering resentment bubbling beneath its cool amber gaze. Howlkit doesn't flinch; he's learned that showing softness gets you nowhere, only trampled. Better to act first, bite first, keep the world at bay. Protect what is yours before it is taken from you. The slight cooling of its temper as a result of Tigerkit's efforts is thrown to the wayside. Bayingkit's anger swirls around the scene, a force of its own; for a second, Howlkit's chest tightens. It knows that look, that seething hatred barely contained behind those two-toned eyes. It's the same feeling that bubbles inside of it each time it sees Fallowbite. And yet now it's it that is being glared at that way, fangs bared, claws unsheathed, like it's some kind of threat. Like it doesn't belong.
It pushes forward again, ignoring the way Coltpaw stands between it and the two kittens. It can feel the weight of Bayingkit's fury, but he doesn't stop. His own anger rises to meet hers, a familiar burn in its chest. She doesn't understand. None of them do. How could they? They've never had to fight to survive, never had to grow up with the constant weight of danger, of never being safe. Never had to defend their food from every threat that comes their way. "Stay out of this!" Howlkit snarls, voice low but venomous, its own claws sliding from their sheathes. It wants to snap, wants to strike, but there's a part of it that holds back. She's protecting her sibling, and a small part of it recognizes that instinct. It's what it would do, too. The air between them thickens, pulsing with tension. It locks eyes with Bayingkit's, feeling the hatred there, a mirror of its own. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of them. Howlkit's muscles are taut, ready, as it watches her lash out again. A cold challenge lingers in its stare. Let her try. It can easily handle her.
Then a large body shoves between Howlkit and the targets of its rage, and it hisses sharply. Its body remains tense, ready, its amber eyes flicking between the faces gathered around. The sting of its own blood dripping from its muzzle burns, but it's nothing compared to the defensiveness that grows with each moment it feels eyes on it. It could taste the fury, the frustration, and it wants to lash out, wants to snap that it didn't want to bite, but it had to, it had no choice. It didn't start it. Its ears flatten as the large cat speaks. The sound of authority in the healer's voice scrapes against its inner ears, a reminder of Baying Hound's sharp words and the endless pressure to be an unbreakable force. Its muscles tense instinctively as if preparing for another fight, but it stays still, holding its ground, forcing itself to breathe slowly and hold the anger in check. With so many enemies against it, it can't afford to lash out again, when doing so will likely have it thrown out or killed.
As Gentlestorm demands they all go to the den, it refuses to move. Its legs feel heavy, the thought of taking a step away from the fight gnawing at its pride. It isn't fair. But then again, it never is; that's what life is. Unfair, cold, unrelenting. It hates it. As the hatred burns in its chest, more crawls in alongside it; the way Gentlestorm looks at it—like it's nothing more than a wild thing, barely under control—is too familiar. It can see it. It had seen it in others before, in those who whisper about it when they think it can't hear. The judgement clings to it like a shadow it can't shake. It clenches its jaw, its lips pulling back ever so slightly as the thought gnaws at it. The others' presence barely registers anymore, paws remaining steadfastly stuck to the same spot. Coltpaw and Twilightkit can sit there and let Gentlestorm tend to them all they like. Howlkit doesn't need coddling. It isn't about to show any weakness, not now, not ever. Not when doing so could lead to being hurt worse, to being murdered in secret after it is taken away into the den and hidden from its siblings. It isn't safe.
It suddenly turns to Thrashkit as its sibling growls beside it, suggesting something that its first reaction to is to jerk its head away. As it stares at its sibling, though, it isn't fear that grips it; it's something else. Cold, steady, like the silence that usually settles around it. Its amber eyes narrow to slits as it watches the others, a detached wariness simmering in its gut. Thrashkit's defiance flickers in front of it, bold and loud, but her trembling paws betray her. It doesn't answer right away. Its heartbeat is slowing down, beating steadily. Baying Hound's lessons of cruelty, of the brutal simplicity of violence and the actions that others will take against those around them, echo in his mind. Thrashkit is giving it an opening, a way to be treated by the healer that will not expose it to danger, to the risks inherent in trust.
The air around them feels charged, a quiet storm on the verge of breaking. Blood in the air, fur bristling—its seen it all before, felt it creep into its bones. But Thrashkit's trembling voice has cut through that hazy fog, and something stirs inside it. Its sibling has offered to stand beside it, to take its side and keep it safe within the den, and this is one of two cats it can trust. It will not let anyone else hurt her, and so it will do what it must. Its lips curl back as it takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the other kitten's. The wariness in her is clear, but she's waiting, sturdy and resilient. Its thick paws sink into the dirt with each little step as it moves closer. The sounds around it seem almost dulled, everything else fading into the background. Without a word, and without hesitation, it bares its teeth fully and sinks them into her shoulder—not too hard, but enough for it to sting. Enough for blood to begin dripping from the wound, for Gentlestorm to be forced to bring its sibling alongside it. It isn't the savage bite of an enemy. It doesn't want to tear Thrashkit apart; it just wants to do enough that it will be safe.
Its jaw unclenches and it releases her, stepping back to look over towards the small group moving towards the den where they will be treated. The sharp tang of Thrashkit's blood sits on its tongue, somehow seeming more sour than the blood of those that it can still feel anger burning in the pit of its chest for. "Thanks," it says in what is almost a grumble, though the gratitude is sincere. "C'mon." It gently pushes Thrashkit to follow Gentlestorm, and will follow in her steps.
