( They are two panthers, prowling. Growing increasingly, tirelessly irritated with the aberration of each other's behaviour. He wants, very badly, to grit his teeth and bare them. Wants to claw.

Instinct does not prevail over reason. Walk on, ignore the crowds. Ignore the cloying, blood-curdling, impetuous toxicity of the Gut's Bind and its magical volatility. )

What, then, are you doing? ( There must be a point to this, a destination. An end purpose. )