He screams, an eerie ear-splitting howl with undertones and overtones, deep vibrations that rattle Fives' ribs and shrill shrieking notes that hurt his ears. He pulls Fives back toward him by his leg, and covers over him, a writhing mass of fur and and claws and slick, smooth, cool skin. He presses a jagged, twisted face into Fives' shoulder, only half muffling the echoing yell that bounces and batters them inside the small bubble of rock.

"And who damned us," he demands, long webbed fingers clutching Fives tight. "Who stripped our banners and buried our cries and named us dishonored, who stamped us into the mud? I failed them and I pay for it every endless moment, but She's the one who uses you. Who made you for nothing but to die, who doesn't even let you have a life first, you think She ever cared about you? She doesn't. She never did, not even when you tried everything to be perfect for her, never."