[Matt melts at the contact, standing up on his tiny hooves, nuzzling against Shiro's chest with a soft, gentle almost-lowing sound, ears flicking velvety and gentle against one of the scars. The mention of it -- the arena, the whip -- makes him shudder, once, then drop the chain so he can wrap both arms around Shiro's human waist.]
I hate them. I hate them for that. [He whispers it ferociously, like something like what he's become -- weak and timid and awkward and helpless -- could possibly do something to stop what's happening to Shiro.]
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I hate them. I hate them for that. [He whispers it ferociously, like something like what he's become -- weak and timid and awkward and helpless -- could possibly do something to stop what's happening to Shiro.]