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They’re not sure what has led them here, beyond the remnants of a strange dream. They’re not even sure how they had managed it, paws carrying them through grass and the change of scenery blindly, like a soldier, urged only by the feeling that they needed to be looking for something here.

The feeling doesn’t wane as they peer at the cottage- instead, it only seemed to be compounded by new emotions. The first is an odd sort of serenity, one that almost ushers them to stop and take their time with finding what they needed to. But quickly, all too quickly, it changes. The ball of white-hot anger that begins to form in Cyris is new, but it’s there anyways. It makes them want to sink their teeth into something and keep them there until their prey stops moving. It makes them want to tear something apart.

They don’t like it. They’re terrified of it, actually. They had never been a warrior, and the idea that this could change that for them was awful. They despised it.

Not enough to keep them from making their way closer, toward the cottage. It’s only when they get closer to the entrance that they realize they’re not alone- first with the sounds of a fight, and second with the sight of a stranger, closer to the entrance then Cyris was, looking as if they were waiting. For what, they don’t know- and their first instinct isn’t to ask. Their first instinct is to lunge, and bite down, and hurt this stranger in hopes that it would satiate the anger rolling within them.

When they do bite down, though, it’s in an attempt to clear their mind without bringing harm to anyone else. Immediately, pain shoots through them where they had bitten down on their tongue, and they can taste the traces of blood the action had left behind.

At least it had been theirs.