Rafire met his protege glaring at mangled corpses below. He moved by his side, and got hit with the terrible smell and ugly inhumane, un-beastkin sight. He saw the glare his protege wore, and though he was not as angry–having led battles and having his fair share of massacres, he felt part of Almar's rage. The human was going to pay for what he had done was a thought the two agreed on without saying a word.
Almar, white as the snow at the peak of a mountain shed tears that sank into his feathers. He turned to his master, and Rafire understood that part of the rage he held was directed at him, his master. Rafire couldn't find the words. Though Almar had potential and was massively talented, he was still but a child, one that didn't have enough experience to be unshaken by this horrible sight before him.
Rafire sighed, and then placed his large right wing on his protege shoulder,
