Captive (Tag Flamers!)

[*-*Riku*-*]

The Ginger tom traipsed out of the den, but came back in a few rabbit hops with 2 mice dangling by their tails from his jaws. He laid one down in front of Coalpelt and purred. "The name's Spitfire, by the way. What's yours, unless you just want me to keep calling you 'Prisoner.'" He said, smiling a little as he settled down with his own mouse and tucking in with small rapid bites. "I've been... raised by this pack, to be honest. My parents were killed by monsters when I was a little'un. Ashe found me crying at the side of the Deathroad. She picked me up and that's how I came to be part of my new family here." Spitfire seemed to be talking without invitation, as if his existance here in the den needed to be explained. He was a wolf, wasn't he? Though a little smaller, that didn't seem to bother him as much as it should have. He had grown up as one.

[*-*Riku*-*]

Spitfire's technique was laughably simple when broken down in thought. He had been taught how to control his strength down to every flick of his claws. His technique consisted of rushing in close upon his opponent with next to no warning, flash his claws and teeth across his opponent's skin, and get away almost too fast for his opponent to even think about a retaliation, leaving wounds that ripped open the flesh, and laid open the bone. These were not warrior attacks. The wounds that Spitfire was capable of leaving in his wake could prove to be fatal, they could sting for hours, and were so deep and vicious in nature that no warrior would even think of fighting like that. Spitfire had not been taught how to fight. He'd been taught how to kill.