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Confusion is the only thing saving them from an all out brawl right now. XD
Teeth flashed like lightning as wolf and coyote collided. Teo's teeth sank into fur and grit and locked onto the scruff of the wolf's neck. Anatole's teeth clamped onto feathered fur on the coyote's leg, scratching the skin enough to bleed out but not getting a good hold with all the kicking and moving around the albino was doing. With his jaws locked on the other's scruff, Teo twisted and tossed to try and get a better hold. This thing was the enemy. This thing was vile and deserved to die. This thing was a wolf. Vermin.
Another set of jaws suddenly blocked Teo's vision on one side, latching down on fur and skin beside his own hold on the wolf. White fur flashed in his side vision and Teo, for a moment, though it must've been Gemma. But since when did Gemma fight? The girl was harmless for the most part.
More blind confusion followed, enough of a start to knock Teo back into his senses, if only for a moment. Anatole ripped free of both sets of jaws, staggering away with fur on end and eyes on fire. There was a shouted command almost a breath afterwards, but it wasn't Anatole or Gemma's voice. Light?
Teo stumbled away from both wolves, placing himself between them and Gemma again, tail flagging in the air as high as it could go, fur bristling, jaws snapping at the air in a feral warning to back out. Light wasn't the enemy here, even if he was a wolf. No, he was a bystander butting into someone else's business. This was a fight between himself and the vile thing with brown fur. Why was Light here?
"He's MAD!" The brown scum snarled, snapping Teo out of his rage for a moment. Mad? The coyote's fangs still gleamed, red and white mixed like marble. His eyes settled on the brown offender and he wondered for a moment if he truely was as mad as the wolf claimed. No. He was the sane one, wasn't he?
...had he ever been sane? Who was to blame for it, though? Not these wolves. Then who...?
Gemma. The whore. The vile creation of sin and shame. As if he'd stepped out of a horror movie, the coyote turned to stare at the crumpled mess of white fur and blood behind him. For a moment, sanity and reason struggled with feral indulgence. This wasn't the enemy. This was the lover. The mate. The lady. Not the enemy.
And then he just stood there, staring, not moving an inch.
Not a word. Not an inch of movement. It was as if he'd stilled in time, the only visable sign of his life the rise and fall of his breaths, the occasional blink to dampen dry eyes. Who was to blame? Who was the enemy? The wolf who'd offended him? The wolf who'd stopped their fight? The whore? Oh, the confusion. The chaos. The insanity.
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