Sometimes I realize just how bad I feel, either it be when I am feeling numb, emotionless, and too exhasted to care or when I feel cold fire in my eyes.

White:
They are going nowhere.
Furrisks can't move while on knees.
The arrow is a spear going through their heart.
Perhaps it took it away.
and now they stare at their claw.
Simply.
They are not mortally injured and the pain doesn't feel acute enough to be real.
Yet they still lost something.

Red:
The destruction of the enemy does not make them happy
And yet they have stayed idle for hours silently wishing for the death of the unnatural.
Simmering.
Like a pit of hot charcoal.
Their spear is sharp not out of care and maintainence, but out of lack of use.
Will they ever use it?
For now they ask to be left alone, silently wishing for the company.
Under all that anger, they just want a home, but atleast they feel alive for the moment.