When he speaks, I can at least give him the flattery of my attention. One ear, however, turns towards the forests and groves beyond and to where Underidge lurks; I nod slowly to Abel's words nonetheless, my eyes narrowing in contemplation. "Yes, pain is worth making others proud, isn't it?" I repeat the thought, tasting the words on my tongue as it lashes against my teeth momentarily. I can feel the saliva of anticipation run down the whites of my canines, pooling in the back of my throat; he is a good brother, I think, for admitting that he will do anything it takes to make his family - his pack, his companions - proud. I simply wonder if he means it.

I can feel others nearby and yet, I do not fear their presence. Rather, I sniff at the air, noticing Abel follow suit; Eve is somewhere near, as is a stranger laced with the scent of Underidge. Of all the wolves, I do not feel this pair is a threat. They are simply here to witness what ought to be done in these instances - correction, freedom, unburdening. I feel Underidge even nearer, a familiar prickling sensation forming beneath my skin as his words seep out like mist itself. "Eritis liberata," - be freed - the words are almost a prayer as I dip my head low, Underidge's pale form striking forward with a sudden savagery.

He is surprisingly quiet as Underidge tears into him; the brown of his fur is alive with crimson and the steely scent of blood. His eyes are wide but there is something in there - something that tells me he must surely understand. It drives me to merely watch for a moment, my head tilted slightly as my eyes dig into the scene before me. Then again, I am sworn to assist my pack.

I step forward slowly at first, finding a place alongside the bristling form of Underidge; it is almost mesmorizing watching the way he turns flesh and sinew into shreds and ribbons. Then, I lean in, careful not to impede his own space before I claim a place for my own; my teeth begin to work then, grinding towards the bone and feeling the warmth of blood crawl down the back of my throat. It is my arrival that seems to remind Abel that he is indeed alive and yet, I do not pause. It is faster this way. It is more effective. Before it is even complete, I tug backwards, digging my paws into the sand and beginning the slow process of pulling him towards the flames that shall cull the bleeding. It is a small mercy, I suppose. Simply, I do not wish to waste the time of Hadrian and his healers. My brother is large however and it will take us time, and that is assuming Underidge will come to see eye to eye with me regarding such mercy. I do not expect it of him. He has done so much for me, for Abel, for the pack. He has done so much already.