If I fall, get knocked down, pick myself up off the ground

✯ — keona sibéal ní faoláin. female. dealer of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.

— The squabble of creatures that surrounded him was common, it was an expected thing. Ament had learned to live with the blanket noise and allow it to drown out the moments of silence that stood out to the beast. That static that dribbled from a healing wound. It itches- aches at unbearable times when the noise of his own body[glow=#D43D1A,2,300] s c r e a m s[/glow] out. He would then turns towards the sound of a clan to drown it. It was not wise to fiddle with the bandages that clung to him; It only meant to reopen the wound: and the healing process would need to begin again. To cleanse an infection, one must reopen it, and burn the infection.

It was a great relief when Ament had found a den within the temple while he had healed. Salt of the sea mingling in with incomplete healings left the injuries Ament had left alone to rot and [shadow=#D43D1A,left]fester[/shadow]. When Roan had found him: [sup]whom Mother had told him to stay with[/sup]. He allowed the silence, allowed the typhoon- maybe not to forget his existence, but believe for once that Ament was not the predator. He had faded from the image of day to day life for most: and Ament had given them that. A peace of ignorance, for but a moment: he let himself believe it too.

When the squabble had turned towards a sound of distress, when Ament could scent the place of war and death and s t a t i c. It was instinct, what would happen next. It was a reaction born of a beast whose injuries were healed by the clan he swore to defend, the same clan in defense against a single thing that such a beast as he- was still healing from.

It was a dragon, who defended its hoard.

To say Ament forgot the Pitt's scent was a lie; the arid desert; when the dusk had set and the sweet smell of rot of that place it permeated the air; and the tranquil place of salt, sea freedom was tainted with the stench of death; of a member that would've looked at Ament shackled and laughed.

With his injuries, his infections: healing meant little movement. But it had been some time since the infection had taken hold of his form, and now- freshly treated and free the smell was a reminder where the healed injuries faded- the memory would never leave him. And that rage, long ago pushed aside for silence, woke back up into existence with a r o a r. Not many knew of the raptor here, he had taken residence in the temple where his sisters would make their nests atop the branches of a strong tree don't think of it, don't recollect the abandonment- the separation that still lingered. It was easy to forget the monster- the beast: when it was no longer monstrous ?

Yet, Ament hadn't forgotten: and he would never let the Pitt forget him. (even if his captor was no longer of the place if she were only an isle away, it was the land that carried the sins) What most would note, was Ament was quiet, silent most days, but suddenly he left the temple, that rage returned, that anger- everything that made him feared by what he protected was brought to the surface.

Breaking from the foilage, Ament let out a shriek, and without hesitation, launched towards Dante. Even in the edge of the beach where ament had launched from, his two feet aimed to push the other down into the water while his head aimed to connect with the other's scruff. If he managed to grasp it: start shaking the pittian like dog toy. Plunging himself under the water to grasp his prey held little fear in comparison to the rage. That Ament had never been allowed to forget: give the beast the chance and retribution sang inside his veins like a righteous holy thing. Something devine in nature taken and twisted by it’s savage counterpart: such law was a law of beasts. An eye for an eye: an injury for an injury.

Fear for fear

//ament came out and is currently attacking dante