Tsetse does not have words to say for this—for the sweet joy of not only destruction, the battlefield wrought before her, but of dragging someone down with her. There are no words for this. She's never had words for the pure, sweet delight that sings through her veins like adrenaline, feeling the magic take.

She does the only thing she can: she laughs. Bright and harsh like summer sun, her tail curls, coils until she thinks (it's hard to tell in the aftereffects of hallucination) it touches at the cat's ankle. It's almost affectionate.

The cat—she understands. Oh, but she is going to go so far with that knowledge. Perhaps Tsetse will even get to witness; it would be a sight as sweet as a plagued battlefield.

"...indeed," she replies to the cat's turn of phrase. Truly there is little else to say. Tsetse lulls into a comfortable silence, finding the rat stuck between her hooves still squirming as if trying to free itself from knotwork, all wide eyes and slavering mouth.

Her gaze turns to Mossie as she blinks (for a measure of the word) the last few remnants of that beautiful vision away. Her hooves shift the jungle mouse ever so slightly.

"Would you like the honor of killing this?" She's in a good mood today; ordinarily she would reserve the swift, sharp thrill of violent death for herself and only herself, but, ah, the cat seems inexperienced with such matters. She'll indulge her.

Her expression is not kind—it never is—but it is... warm, when she looks down at Mossie. The corruption changed something in the cat, made it right—how eager the cat is, in all things! Tsetse looks down at her and she sees something familiar looking back. Kin.

She has not felt this way in a long time. The last time she felt this way was when she hatched, when she was with her siblings. The warmth of it sings in even a corrupted creature like her; the soft joy of like me, like me, like me.

There is blood on the cat's paws, and it is because of her. The feeling buzzes electric beneath her skin.

"Of course," Tsetse responds, mouth curving into a smile. "Consider it a gift for an eager thing like you."

A thought occurs to her, and she almost laughs—sitting so close she can feel the cat purring away, and yet she doesn't even know her name. "My name is Tsetse," she says. "And you are?"