Still fresh from the thrill of his betrayal, he wakes in the dark. His chest heaves, and he rakes in lungfuls of dead, dank air, though this helps not at all. Hawkstorm had never expected to die at the filthy claws of a Tainted, and the ugly truth hurts almost as much as the killing wound. More than the pain, though, is the deep and trembling rages he feels at the thought of his brother- sly Redfeather, slinking away as if he'd been no more than a burden to bear. His muzzle twists into an unbecoming snarl. Redfeather will get what he's owed- once he's died and sinks into hell. Hawkstorm is yet to realize he, too, has sunk low. He's the first of this place, this pit, this cold reeking purgatory. For a long while, he's left alone to rot in the unending night.