Breath firm, breath steady. Soft rises of his chest as the throttling, bubbling feeling of anxiety wormed its way through the rogue’s body. It crept to his very core and practically deprived him of oxygen upon the first inhale.

This natural instinct to fear the encroaching enemy came with the scent that trailed behind the wind. A scent that was familiar, foreboding and all too painful. It was not impervious to sight how exactly frightened the large male was, the hair on his neck sticking straight up with ears curled into the folds of white locks. Hani Island now claimed a true predator -- the very person he called a brother, going so far as dubbing him an ‘Angel’. An Angel true to his nickname but now, perhaps followed by the phrasing ‘of death’. No longer, was he safe.