A blur of raging fire shot through the heart of the valley, cackling and panting with a ghost nipping at its heels. It zigged and zagged, trying every possible way that it could concoct to get away from the beast pursuing it, but its attempts were futile; the flame’s brain was so preoccupied that it hadn’t noticed the sound of rushing waters growing louder. Skidding to a halt, the vulpine whipped its frail body around and lurched to the right in one last attempt to outsmart the demon chasing it, only to see at the very last second the jaws waiting there to grab it—too slow. Alexander’s jaws clamped down around the animal’s neck and applied enough of pressure to prohibit it from breathing, but not enough to kill it immediately. No. A point needed to be made. The young vixen needed to understand that her games were not welcome in his valley, nor her thieving habits. Loosening his grip, he waited for that last glimmer of hope to flicker through her eyes before he bit back down, this time ending her life. Yet, he did not tear into her flesh thereafter, he merely dropped the body at the river’s edge—a gift for Arthur, he decided—and turned away from it with a scowl scrawled across his face.

Assuming the fox to have originated from the glade—that was one downfall of his home, as far as he was concerned—he set off towards the valley’s entrance with the intention of issuing a very graphic warning to whichever skulks called the place home. Whilst he learned from Arthur that his mother had once held some sort of treaty with the foxes, and even allowed them to enter the valley as they pleased, he refused to uphold that deal. They were nothing more than lowly scavengers, and he would not have them thinking that they could steal from his pack and get away with it. The entire time that he walked he was fuming, a cocktail of negative emotions—anger, irritation, impatience, and so on—rolling off of his body in waves. And yet, by the time he reached the end of the pathway, there wasn’t a trace of anything left in his expression. On the way up, he’d caught wind of wolves and, by the time he was close enough to see them, had rid himself fully of all the distaste felt towards the foxes; wolves at his borders would not be treated the same as creatures as lowly as them.

With ears pushed forward and tail arched over his back, Alexander closed the distance between himself and the small group, though remained right on the edge of the boulder-filled walkway. His gaze was drawn to the largest member of the group; a male with a monochromatic coat, his stance giving Xan the impression that he was the one leading the party. His eyes then drifted over the rest of them, lingering on the brown wolf situated between the other two females; her eyes reminded him of his own, though they were a considerable amount of shades darker. Looking back to the assumed head, he gave a nod in place of a verbal greeting. “What brings you all here?” he asked immediately afterwards, inwardly preparing for a battle. Having not one, or even two, but an entire group of wolves outside of his home was unsettling, at best; he couldn’t recall ever seeing as many as were there before him now try to join a single pack all at once.

Alexander’s focus remained on the male of the group, expecting him to be the one to answer; his assumptions were proven to be true as he took it upon himself to answer for the lot of them, as well as share names. Wardruna, Poet, Addie, and Sif. Again, he found his eyes trailing over towards the latter of the females, wondering about her eyes; they couldn’t possibly be related, as he was his mother’s only child with crimson eyes and his father’s other children wouldn’t be so quiet given who their mother was. It was a curious thing, nevertheless, though he reminded himself that it didn’t matter and wasn’t nearly important enough to hold his attention for very long. So he turned his gaze back to the man, what the girls were to him running through his mind: his wives. The Apaata was not unfamiliar with the idea of having more than one wife, his father having told him of it once before during a lesson about their family. Still, it wasn’t something that one often came across, so he was kind of taken aback by it; this he did not let show through, his features maintaining a neutral expression.

Putting the idea—and his questions on how exactly their arrangement worked—out of his head, he said, “My name’s Xan,” remembering then that he hadn’t yet introduced himself. And when their reason for being there was revealed, his mind was put at ease, though his body remained tense. “I have space,” he told them, putting it out in the open. “But what can you bring to the pack, other than your numbers?” If there was anything that he’d learned from being apart of Blackfeather, it was that no pack had space for slackers. If someone wasn’t prepared to pull their weight, it didn’t matter who or what they were—they needed to be removed.

Following his question he listened. The albino was silent, giving the group of travellers the floor to speak as their offerings of skills were given. And as he kept from speaking he wondered if this was how it might always be from now on, with him having to stop and listen, rather than run straight on through things; the notion gave way for confusion to grow within him, unable to tell whether or not he liked the thought. Soon after he decided that it didn’t matter either way, whether or not he liked it, because it was necessary. If he wished to have his desires fulfilled and return the valley to its former glory, then he would have to change—evolve into something greater, a better version of himself. No longer were his teeth the only thing he could speak with, however tempting it was to continue on that way.

The reveal of a vulnerability had his ears erect atop his skull, listening far closer than ever before. He was struck immediately by the urge to turn him and his wives away, right then and there, for the weakness alone—but he did not. Muzzling the nagging voice in his head and refusing to give in to impulse, he continued to listen, recognising the good that stemmed from the bad. Though a worthy warrior no longer, he was not a useless creature to keep around. There were other benefits to granting him entry that outweighed the risks; Xan had to learn to accept the mind as being just as powerful as jaws, and what better way to take a step in that direction that by letting a wounded soldier join his ranks? In the long run, that would likely prove to be the better of his options, anyways.

With a nod, he showed that he had taken his words into account, but offered no hints at what his final decision might be. He instead looked towards the women as they shared their skills next, finding them just as useful—for the most part, that is. Neither being friends or nice were things that he could see a use for but he kept his mouth shut, letting only her abilities as a hunter influence his train of thought. And it was easy to ignore her more unconventional skills when Poet spoke, finding her offerings to be quite useful; he didn’t have someone within his ranks yet that could wield the medicinal properties of plants, or at least not one that he trusted.

Alexander did not wait for the third girl to speak before making his decision, as her input wouldn’t contribute much—the strengths of the others would not be outweighed by what she could not offer, so he left her to slide by on their backs. “I’ll let you join—all of you,” he said aloud then, gaze trailing across the females before settling on Wardruna. “Even with your eye, I hope I can trust you to fight, should we ever be under attack.” Trust was a difficult thing for him to put in someone, but he had no other way to put it. He wanted to trust them, as well as whoever else might follow him in the future. So, he let himself put the smallest sliver of trust in the group, silently hoping to himself that they wouldn’t let him down. It was a two-sided path, however, so he would also have to give them an opportunity to return the sentiment—which meant sharing a few extra details about their new home.

“Before any of you venture too far in and pick up on his scent, I should let you know that there’s a bear here,” he started with, figuring it was the most important thing. “He’s been here since before my parents even found this place, and he’s harmless. Just don’t get on his nerves—he likes to complain a lot.” And he would be the one to hear those complaints, just like his mother before him. “We also have neighbours—Easthollow,” he added, leaving out just how close they were; he figured this was something that they would discover on their own. “The pack is led by my sister, Desna, so you don’t have to worry about them. Just don’t outright disrespect them, I don’t want any tension between us.” Whether us meant the packs or him and his sister, he did not clarify, because he did not know. Turning, he threw his head in the direction of the valley, motioning for them to follow him inside.

“Welcome to Bearclaw Valley,” he said over his shoulder, then led them down the path. Within the valley’s walls, he bid them each farewell after pointing out the direction of the waterfall and maple woods—though the latter was near to them and easily seen—and then turned away to carry on with their days. Whilst they were left to explore, he’d return to the borders.