Re: Tanks and civilians - toward the rest stop
[She smiles and he likes it. He likes her smile. It makes him smile. Grin. Lots of teeth.
He doesn't like incoming. He doesn't like being shot at. He doesn't like Kitty being shot at. The firing goes into the tank, and NO! HE DOESN'T LIKE THAT!
Helicopter first! Then Kitty. Then REDGOLDFRIEND HE FORGOT ABOUT.
The anger at the shooting (and a little at himself, though he can't voice that thought) lets itself out in a long, loud bellow, fists clenched at his sides. He's barely done with the sound when he bends his knees and leaps straight into the air. His weight when he snags the side of the 'copter makes it list to one side, blades at a 45-degree angle to the ground. It makes it even easier to climb, to reach in and pull the pilot from the body, flinging the screaming body away in an arc that will end several miles from the site of the battle. The blades are snapped off, one by one, flung at the ground where they lodge straight down into the earth, embedded several feet down.
Whatever calm he'd been chasing is gone. Long gone.]