Sawtooth Spire wrong side of the tracks

The mother slept easily. The scent of blood woke her, and she shifted to rise and retrieve it. Only, the meat was not in its typical location. It was further out. The alpha female could not deny her hunger; she could not recall the last time she had eaten big game since the cubs were born. Fortunately her mate and others were consistent about delivering her a great amount of small game to make up for it... but, never this far. The mother bristled and sniffed... only the scent of the dead raccoon she could note.

She had left the den before for water and all had been well. But the tactician in her was thrown off by this, and although vastly unintelligent in other fields, the woman knew traps when she saw them. But who would the saboteur be? It had to be one of the pack—surely her mate and Nanuk would not allow any others within, nor would Echelon. The alpha female had heard the howls for Arverk; he was missing, so it could not be him. The mother was quick to return to her children.

Tonravik stood over her cubs now, and now was crouched above them, and let loose a blood-curdling snarl that foretold of an untimely end of any who enter here. The sound was fierce and full of promise, and utterly ceaseless, even as saliva slathered and pooled over her jowl—preparing for a meal—and she kept her babes beneath her, observant to their movements beneath her while heeding the mouth of the den for her victim. Her ears were well over her brows, tail lashing behind her. Even an argonaut would not tempt fate; the reward would be too shortlived to be deemed worthy by any that breathed. She would rend this opponent into obsolescence, whoever it was.