boone had never been a violent man.
he was afraid to be seen as such, even. he knew how daunting he was upon first glance, the way his teeth glinted in sunlight. he fought this notion with every ounce of his being.
but leadership made him something else. in it, it brought out a primal desire to protect, and perhaps it had always been there — it was only now being dusted off and cast into the forefront of his actions, his whims. when the shriek of pure, unadulterated terror found him, there was one objective that now overwhelmed his synapses: kill the beast. protect the pack. kill the beast.
he came hurtling through the trees in a tumble of ashen fur and tight muscle. he had seen this before, this disgusting display of predation; he saw it happen to his wife. and the absolute last thing he was going to do was let it happen again to a woman under his watchful eye. unthinkingly, brain on fire, he ferociously dives straight for the pale-throated man who stood now over the redflame body of reina.
boone sought to display his head upon an altar as a warning to those who dared to fuck with him.

alarms sound inside the harbinger's mind, blaring, piercing.
in the scramble to knock the brute off of reina, his teeth find purchase in the thin flesh that protects snow-clad throat. ripping, tearing, sundering, squeezing; the visceral threat of life being stolen. his footfalls ripple through the earthen floor as he forces his adversary further and further toward the northeastern border, the two a flurry of scarlet and bone.
not under his fucking roof.

claws rake toward him, and in the struggle to avoid the strike, his grip loosens; but in the absence of his own jaws, another set comes in — mae.
two! two that will rip the lecherous soul from the assailant's body. regaining his footing, snow sprayed with black and red, he skids on his heels and springs forward yet again.
this time, a forelimb is caught between his teeth. never before had he so clearly felt bone snap at his whim.
with the power of adrenaline and a voracious defensive anger, he tears and shreds whatever lies within his reach. from his lips rattles a roar befitting a bear.

a third. a third, who he soon recognized as kyrell; his pack seemed to be swarming the intruder like a nest of hornets, and boone swelled with pride and adrenaline.
when he looked toward the assailant's face, met the silversmoke eyes; the panic and rage began to drift toward the reaper calling him home. in that instant, boone made a decision.
this man will not die mercifully. he will freeze in the harsh snow, alone, bleeding, and hungry; he will go back to the earth from whence he came a husk of his former self. and if he were to live long enough for it, he will know true regret.
that's enough! as boone's grip is released, spittle and blood fly from his jowls. panting, heaving, spewing venom that he hadn't known existed within him, his paw slams down on the side of the ghostly head in order to hold him down — to show his own power. power that was given freely, power not stolen from innocents. true, just power.
y'know what this fucker did, fellas? huh? the harbinger's expression was horrifyingly cold. he sought to truly, truly punish; to humiliate. he thought he could rape one of our women and get away with it.
seething, boone's claws dig into skin; cold, wet and surely agonizing. y'wanna leave here alive, mister? yer gonna tell her yer fuckin' sorry, and yer gonna mean it.

there is hapless screeching from the throat of reina's assailant. boone does not care to listen.
devotion, in entirety, to his people and their safety. the harbinger's eyes harden into shards of murky black as he turns to face the meek form of reina.
what do you want us to do with him, @Reina? there was kindness in the singe of his tone, true desire for an answer; because ultimately, it was her call. if she wished for mercy and hearthwood did not fulfill it, they would be just as bad as him.