Bearclaw Valley hunters

@Cole

the morning dawn shines in upon the shared den of he and his mate. he feels @Towhee Jr's warmth against his backside and thinly stirs, careful to not wake her up; intent on letting her sleep in, to let her get her beauty rest.

he is lumbering as he steps out into the morning sun and stretches, bulging muscles rolling with precision beneath a coat of dark and gold fur. a halo of light practically glinting over his regal scruff and lofted tail.

he takes to the trails quickly, black paws moving one after the other; his strides efficient, his nose to the ground as he goes. doing a quick sweep of his living area before heading out further into the valley. he stops along a peak and swipes his nose along a crag, before panting, drawing in the scents futher to taste upon a wet tongue.

coyotes. the trail was a couple hours old, but it'd lead him to wherever the fuckers went. even if they weren't in the territory anymore, which he strongly doubted, they would learn not to come back. for good measure, he raises his head to the morning chill and leaves a call for cole to find him. then, he skirts down the ridge, hot on the trail of the vermin.

The Rogue had already been wide awake that morning. Sleep evaded him more often than he'd like— pacing, nightmares, the uncertainty of what he was supposed to do now keeping him chained to Winslet's den like a wounded animal.
He still had duties. This he could not ignore. A creature, monster, of habit he would always return to his post.
The birds chirped eagerly. Ears flickering, he watched the flock fly above, looking for a landing place that was safe.
This place used to be safe, too. But he didn't know how much he could credit that notion. Was there anything left? Any comfort?
Tvar's call came quick as he approached, and Cole was hastily reminded that they are the comfort. That they, the darkened warriors kissed by the sun's morning light, had to ensure that.
I smell 'em too.
His blood was already hot.

he hears cole before he sees him. the sound of movement, a shift in the underbrush. when the rogue steps into view, tvar is quick to speak:

they’re close, he signs first, then says aloud for cole’s benefit, tone edged with early morning agitation. too damn close.

he doesn’t elaborate. no need. tvar’s expression hardens, the tension in his jaw mirrored in the sharp set of his eyes.

you ready? blunt, to the point. there’s no space for hesitation here. he trusts cole will be as ready to bleed as he is.

A brow raised at the motion of his head, his paws. Fuck? He didn't know what the male was doing, and at first glance he thought he was sick. But then his voice came, and the thought turned to wheat.
Without word, he nodded, and put his nose to ground, saliva building in his jaw, dripping to the cold ground beneath.
The vermin would be hunted easily. They didn't have to go far— the proximity bristling him further— and his pace turned into a sprint as he caught the first sign of a tail poking out from behind a tree. A veil of brown and mustering beige, he yanked the thing out. A yip was hollered, and the two others of the small gang quickly heeded the call.
Cole was certain that Tvar would make work of them, while Cole wrestled this pathetic canine to the ground. Canine, they didn't even deserve to be the same as them. All three of them male, no doubt coming here to spread their seed.
He would take it slow with the coyote. Wrestling the useless bites it attempted at his forearms, there was a twist, a crack with each forepaw.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: graphic

one tried to veer off, slipping from the pack as if to find safety in solitude.

wrong move.

it was not long 'fore tvar zeroed in on the stray.

he lunges, jaws snapping shut about the creature's scruff. the coyote twisted and yelped, grimy teeth flashing in desperation. he slammed it against the ground, adrenaline thumping, blood running hot, his mind twisted with each guttural snarl.

its cries are soon silenced by a crushing bite to its neck. but tvar didn’t stop there. as the life drained from its eyes, he dragged the lifeless body back toward cole, his own growl vibrating through his chest like rolling thunder.

while cole charged the remaining, tvar went to work. teeth smacking against flesh, goring the bastard, sawing his head from his body. when he was done with that one, he grabbed the first one cole had mangled and began to crunch upon its sinew while it still struggled to cling to life.

their heads would adorn bearclaw’s defenses as a warning to all.

Cole finished off the vermin at his feet. It wasn't a hard battle. But when Tvar came into view, his propierty undone, he watched as the head was ripped from its body.
He a raised a brow, unfazed. Orders? He'd ask, wondering what the heads would be used for. He thought it would be a good idea to hang them upon the borders, a second thought as to crossing them, but he hadn't voiced it.
He waited, blood still dribbling from his mouth that he hadn't bothered to clean.

he is satisifed with his work now and raises his head, a pink tongue coming fast to swipe blood from his muzzle. it is disgusting, the taste of their foul ichor, but it is satisfying all the same. from ameline. a gruff reply as he hoists his own head down to pick up one of the decapitated coyote heads.

blood pools in his chest fur from the gaping wound. with a jerk of his head, he knows cole will be at his side. they move through the valley now, towards the borders where tvar had been working to set up defenses. over a hill of thicket and they arrived, trudging up the rocky mountains that sealed the bearclaw within.

a spike before him and he reaches to shove the head upon it. teeth knotted in greasy fur, ears twisting at the sound of flesh squelching as the spike pierces the torn throat.

So they were orders. Cole hummed in a brief approval, not knowing of Bearclaw's hidden nature that aligned with his own brutality. He helped Tvar with the last heads, ripping muscle from tissue, spine cracking bone. It wasn't a sightly scene, but one nonetheless.
Atop another spike he lodged the other two heads. A symbol for Bearclaw's lands. Safety on the inside would be achievable, but on the outside? Cole was a loaded shotgun, barrel hot and ripe. He was tired of this. Tired of all this fucking blood, injury. Too many women under their protection, and yet...
He tsked. Haven't seen Dolce pull his fuckin' weight.