Bearclaw Valley my carnivore heart comes out after dark

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.