Blood on my Hands

The instructions were clear and concise (as always). Trespassers were given no mercy. It appeared, by Spirewolf standards, not many were delivered mercy. Such a thing was not foreign to the drifter who cared little for others outside of keeping hide firmly on back. The solid alpha affirmed that no enemies currently took precedence nor were there allies to keep attending to. The Sawtooth wolves were their own entity and there was appreciation in that pact. 

Another pause allowed hind leg to lift against a small shrub as the pair walked, sprinkling urine in key locations to reinforce the borders and assure their foothold. 

The information of plains wolves were given a small flick of ear, pausing as the leader demonstrated areas of scarring and went in detail of key locations that would hint at this particular individual of interest. Apparently the female in question was plain and obviously well maimed. The depth of caricature seemed easy enough to pinpoint. "Hmm," he responded in acknowledgment, a throaty hum breaking the inky spider's silence and demonstrating every detail had been absorbed. 

"Sounds like a worthy hunt," he offered bemusedly. It would give the Eta plenty to do some winter, anyway.