Blackpaws felt his hand run slick with sweat along the grip of Scarblade. His eyes blurred, shifting perspectives between color and greys timed to the flash of the lightning as it flickered menacingly. He tried to wrench up his grasp on the blade and nearly fumbled it. His hands, his fingers, felt…wrong. Longer? Sharp…er? Fire charged through Blackpaws veins against the flow till it careened into his temples like nails driven into his skull with dwarven hammers. The pain came so fast and with such horrific intensity that Blackpaws could not even utter the scream his mouth soundlessly worked. The pain brought with it an anger such as he had known only once before, and since unmatched. The searing heat of his blood felt as if it would burst from his body and Paws clenched his teeth against it, unexpected length in them drawing blood from his lip.
…and then it was gone. The pain, the boiling of his blood, the anger…The Rage.
Gone, as if it never happened.
Blackpaws glanced to Ghostdancer. The spirit had transfixed it’s gaze on him, lips retreating from the corners of it’s jaws to cover fangs that had been bared moments earlier. Those ghostly eyes now held him with an all too human emotion swimming in thier depths.