He scraped at the muddy grass with his claws, unsheathed, imagining they were her throat. One day he would rise above him and then where would he be? Growling he pulled herself up and slowly began to pace around in circles. No one would get away after doing something like this to him. No one. He felt his pelt brushing against a maple tree and made sure to stick her claws out so that he could rip of chunks of bark as he passed it. This whole forest would pay for what they had done to him and he would be there to enjoy every moment of the pain they would go through. And he would call it the red era.