But you don't fucking know me homie you don't want war.

[Firen]

Chaos.
His mind is full of it.

Hate, satisfaction, frustration and the pain broken bodies. There are too many feelings and thoughts roaring in his young mind for the whelp to isolate his own. But he does not try. Awestruck, he watches as the thoughts of attackers and defenders alike as they crash through his mind, observing each unique signature their subconsciouses impress on his own.

Obsidian and glowing red the wolf is perfectly camouflaged to his home. The fiery wings above his brindle back ignite involuntarily as a wave of heat passes over him, but for once they do not make him stand out more. 

Then they begin to die. Perfectly impartial he feels them slip away, curiously observing they way their minds flicker before they disappear. But more minds come to fill the space the others left, and he has never felt his so exhilarated. 

The wolf-boy doesn't flee, it is the only thought to never crosses his mind. With four paws firmly planted on the hot, black stone and his sleek head tilted skyward he watches. Ears pinned and hair bristling, he feels their thoughts and he remembers them.