O e n o m e l . n.
He steps into a place of blood and anger.  Wariness envelopes the prince the second the salty tang in the air hit him.  Concern for everyone before him flashes in his eyes, mind racing to keep up with the events unfolding.  Torren feels discombobulated on the matter, searching for a quick answer to his own emotional response to the issue -- an injured clanmate, an injured enemy.  Yet in no world did he ever consider death a viable punishment save for the most vile of acts; death is what he believes half of Tanglewood wishes upon their enemy, the ones he heard called the Pitt.

The wildcat watches Kamara and Kiira intently, regarding the both with some measure of awe and respect.  Kiira was imprisoned by this group yet she wants to help...?  The Pittian bore immense injuries though and Torren began considering the idea he may not have asked for the life he lived in.  It was certainly not an excuse for going after Moth, yet he hardly deserved nearly dying.

Something the fox said pierced him, catching him off-guard.  'Only resulted to violence after...'  He hadn't heard any details of her imprisonment but he suddenly wondered if someone hurt her because of something Tanglewood did.  And she feels betrayed because of it.  He wondered if she told anyone the details; she seemed such a quiet and lonely soul at times.

Torren breathes out softly, ears perking as Moth came to, rightfully shaken up.  He offered her a small, reassuring smile before padding towards Kiira's side.  Her legs are shaking.  "Would you let me help you?" Moth had the other medic's attention, correctly so, and he'd already requested Delilah's assistance.  They had enough healers to take care of all of the injured, he thinks, glancing at Selby with flattened ears.

"I'm afraid I only know the basics of first aid, but I'm here.  I want to be an extra set of paws."  An unpopular choice indeed, but no one has to die. When someone suffered immense injury and blood loss, every second counted, he knew that much. Besides, helping an enemy may result in some benefit later -- strategically.  Only, the young royal suspected few thought of that in the matter, since emotions seemed at high and medical action the most important first step for the time.

Voices. Voices, so many. Voices, so many everywhere, with way too many faces for Worm's bloodlust addled mind to handle. First there was Delilah, seeming to understand his words and turning to go and grab Selby, who thankfully arrived on the scene after just a moment. The male wasn't lecturing him, instead choosing to focus on the clanmate in front of him that was injured. If he was more lucid at the moment, Worm probably would've outwardly expressed his thanks to Selby, but for now he just stepped back so that the medic had plenty of space to work. It wasn't long before the throng of voices was being thrown at him again, and the hellhound's ears pinned back as he heard the judgemental voice of Kamara, seeming to almost beg him to be the better man that he had been when she had met him, driven by the kind first impression he had given. The next to speak was Kiira, somebody that he didn't know well, but whom he still cared about  fair amount. When she started to speak, however, a low growl came up through his chest, echoing through the air in front of him as his teeth bared. She was speaking up about the Pittians as if they were equal to Tanglewood. It was ridiculousness. Sure, one day in the past Wormwood might've agreed with her, and tried to look at it from their side of things, but he had been hurt and scorned far too many times to believe that The Pitt actually had any good souls in it. He had thought Draekon was one of them, but clearly he had been wrong there.

The low growl continued through Worm's chest for a moment before he roughly shoved Roman's limp body forward, toward Kiira. He said gruffly, unaware of the fact that Moth was now awake, as her desperate words fell on dead grateful ears, "He attacked Moth. I have no interest in debating whether or not his life is worth anything, because he hurt one of our clanmates. She could've died if he had gotten off with her in his jaws. But if you really want to heal that, have fucking fun. Don't come running to me when the moment he's conscious, he tries to attack you too. But just know that I agree with Selby on this one. I would've thought you of all people, would understand that the Pitt isn't worth saving." His tail lashed from side to side behind him, and he offered Selby a bit of a nod. That was all he was going to say on the matter, especially considering that blood was still pumping insanely fast through him, drool still dripping from his jaws. Kamara, Kiira, and Moth all cut into him with an edge, showing him how wrong his actions had been, but he for the most part just ignored them, still feeling he was in the right. If the damn Pitt was going to attack members of Tanglewood, they deserved it when they suffered back in return.

The arrival of Roy, however, was what finally made Worm's view snap back into place. He hadn't seen his son approach the town ever before, usually preferring to stay hidden away from sight so that he didn't risk hurting anybody else – something that Wormwood found admirable, even if it showed what a hypocrite he was now. His jaws opened when Roy approached, a desperation softening his eyes as he tried to open his mouth to explain, but it seemed as though Roy was already hurt, the boy's eyes darkening when he saw the state that his father was in. The hellhound could only imagine what a spectacle he must've been, with both drool and blood dripping from between his fangs, blood splattering the front of his chest, and a glazed and wild look in his eyes, that was now settling with the arrival of so many others, and the fact that he couldn't indulge himself in killing and devouring the Mexican wolf. Roy had already turned and quickly walked off by the time that Wormwood stepped forward, and the older male felt pain fill him as soon as his child was gone, replaced by nothing but a cold spot in the air that gripped Worm's heart too tightly. He looked around at the rest of the group there, his eyes snapping from face to face around him, and eventually he decided that it was all too much. He couldn't even hope to return to complete normalcy when there were faces all around him, having moral arguments and struggling to make sure that everyone was okay. A soft distressed whimper left him as he stepped back, before he snapped lowly, "Selby... please make sure that Moth ends up okay. Please... thank you. Crow... Crow will know what to do with the Pittian. Or Leroy, or... I... I-I have to go."

The hellhound gritted his fangs and quickly turned around, his clawed paws frantically taking him off back into the swamp and forestland, disappearing between the heavily clumped trees as his chest rose and fell in a panic. Everything was still so hazy, and he could barely remember what he had done before suddenly everything had snapped into place, and everyone was yelling at each other or looking disapprovingly at him for just doing his job to protect the group. Letting out a heavy breath, he grew further and further away from the others and into the wilds surrounding them, his barbed thoughts the only things cutting through the clouds that hung over his head. Fuck Kamara, fuck Kiira. He had done the right thing. He hadn't just let Moth get taken off like so many others had been recently.

( wormwood is out !! )

[sup]got powerplay permission from tikki![/sup]

    At first, he followed Selby with innocent intentions in mind. Isolated bedrest -- with only visits from medics that knocked on his door not out of the willingness to keep him company, but rather out of their medical responsibility -- admittedly became boring after one or two days of watching the same movies at least twice in a row. So in preparation for the sawbone's visit that day, Beck devised a plan to trail after his newfound friend when he concluded his afternoon visit with him. His paw steps were silent as he slipped down the rotting stairs attached to the side of his houseboat's porch, stalking after the tabby while suppressing a giggle. Maybe he could surprise him with a little jumpscare... although given Selby's newest stress wrinkles, leaping in front of him might induce cardiac arrest. Then he would lose yet another friend. Beck shook his head, pausing his limping stride to brainstorm a better idea.

    A shout broke the forest's quiet and ferns rustled a distance ahead, snapping the injured poltergeist from his concentration. Tentatively rising to his feet, he stumbled to where Selby had undoubtedly last been before darting off with someone else. A pang of jealousy gripped the cavity a heart used to safely reside in, encased by a now-shredded membrane. His crooked smile twisting into a pout, Beck flared his nose and pressed onward with his pace slowed to prevent his stitches from tearing like last time. The sound of contentious voices crescendoed; he flattened his ears in response, but the strengthening stench of those accountable for the cruelty leaving his entrails exposed and eye gouged was enough to freeze him in his tracks. Oh God no, not Selby. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if the young sawbone experienced the torture he did. Wait... he wouldn't be able to live with himself metaphorically. Hunching bony shoulders, the mangy feline quickened his gait -- even if recovering from being absolutely torn apart at the seams, he thought he could still damage a potential attacker enough to allow Selby an escape. Even a simple diversion would be better than nothing. After all, he wasn't exactly at risk of death like the airsuckers he called friends.

  The sight greeting him when he peered from the foliage did little to relieve his worries. Someone had been attacked after all. Narrowing his remaining eye, Beck turned his attention to the filth responsible for the pained cries of Moth and copper tint to the air. His mind locked onto the new target, a sneer contorting bandaged features as the boy's apparition disappeared. No one ever noticed him on the best of days, but he wouldn't want the wolf to see his killer approaching so soon. With a cold presence the only detail to signal his arrival at the scene, the poltergeist slipped through the crowd, reaching the Pittian without interference. The wolf had been rendered unconscious. Lame; he wanted to witness the life leave his eyes. The entity cast aside the veil of invisibility once learning this and coiled paws around the canine's neck, tightening around his windpipe and arteries like a garrote -- but usually, strangulation only took a few seconds on television. The attacker's chest still inflated with air. Scowling, Beck shifted his hold to grasp the wolf just behind his jawbone before swiftly jerking his head to the side at an awkward angle. Like ripping off a band-aid, but with more resistance and sickening crunches of vertebrae. He released the fresh corpse's head, letting it flop backward in a fashion that reminded him of a PEZ dispenser. The feline pushed himself away from the wolf, expression empty as he stared at his handiwork. One less enemy for them to kill later. And if the meat weren't from the Pitt and undoubtedly rotten, he might have brought Audrey home its dinner.