Rita
So what? They could just *Get rid* Of their dragonet because it wasn't what they wanted? And this worm thought he could make a profit off it? Sleet growled, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest, which heaved with his rising fury as he stalked forward, filling the small space with his wings.
"You don't *Sell* Dragonets!" He roared, throwing himself full-bodied into the Nightwing, barreling them both to the floor of the caravan. One palm found his face, squeezing his snout shut and the other gripping one horn, preventing him from biting or breathing fire as Sleet slammed his skull into the floor. His hind claws dug into the trafficker's haunches, piercing his scales like wet clay, the smell of blood thick and cloying in the hot, confined space. "You don't deserve to be called a dragon," Sleet hissed, tightening the grip around his horn, before he twisted his shoulders and jerked one elbow sharply, snapping it in half.
Wendy
Multiple things occured in the Nightwing's mind at once: confusion, fear, regret, and a searing pain all throughout his body. 
His body flared with the instinct to combat his assailant with fire- but with his mouth forced shut, all he could do was expel smoke from his nostrils and let out muffled agonized screeches.
All of this, over some half baked dragonet? A dragonet that was probablably **Dead** Inside of its freakishly small shell? He, for the first time in his life, felt afraid it would end- and all because this lunatic was up in arms over someone's bastard dragonet. 
He tried to focus on anything but the pain. *Anything*. But it was overwhelming, powerful, and stripped him of the shred of dignity he had. All he thought about wa preserving his life now. Through his clamped jaws, he tried to mutter out apologies, pleads to spare his life, everything he could think of to get the stronger dragon off of him.
Rita
He braced the serrated claws on his wings against the floor, using them to anchor himself against the thrashing. Flipping the chunk of keratin around in his claws, Sleet jammed it into the meaty side of the Nightwing's neck, using it as a hook to swiftly turn him over so he could bury his teeth into his throat. The hybrid squeezed his eyes shut against the tang of copper, but the roaring of blood under his scales had him locking his jaw tighter and tighter, until he wasn't sure what killed the dealer first: blood loss or asphyxiation. 
It was only when he stopped moving that Sleet let go, kicking the body to the side and using a nearby cloth to roughly wipe his face before discarding it as he treaded over to the egg still resting in its poor excuse for a nest.
"I gotcha," He sighed, leaning back on his haunches. Sleet carefully lowered both claws into the box, gently cupping the tiny egg in red-stained talons. "You're safe, ok?" He held it close to his chest as he thumped out of the caravan, lifting off with a cloud of dust and heading back to the rainforest, prickly pears and souvenirs forgotten.