i think my neighbors want me dead [C]

Was Rowanheart mad--insane? He must have been. Their new deputy should have had a better head on his shoulders than this. There was no good excuse to assign himself to a patrol with only Silverhawk as company. Was he still so good at masking his feelings, even though he’d all but given up? Believing there was a unique talent for that was the only thing that kept Silverhawk from thinking the deputy was a true idiot. But still: he thought his hatred was palpable, so thick as to be tasted on the tongue with every breath. At some point while they walked together, Silverhawk had bitten his tongue so hard he tasted blood. It lead him to imagining what Rowanheart’s would taste like in his mouth, and that then lead to images flashing through his mind of the pair of them rolling through the dirt until Silverhawk came out on top and bent down with his jaws aiming for the sensitive, exposed throat--

A breath puffed out of his nose. Silverhawk swallowed back the spit and blood that sat in his mouth and turned his attention toward Rowanheart. He hated him. Hated, hated, hated him. Rowanheart was nothing but a lesser version of him, his slightly younger mirror. As gregarious as Silverhawk had grown to be, but surely lacking in wit. Guileless idiot. What had he done to earn this position? What had he done that Silverhawk hadn’t? He’d garnered respect once, too. What had become of him?

Another huff; another bitter swallow. His green eyes narrowed sharply before he threw his head and looked away again. ”You’re settling into your position well,” Silverhawk said. There was no effort made to keep the sourness out of his voice.