Bearclaw Valley new beginnings

looming at the fringes of the group— reminding everyone in attendance of a lone and somber raincloud— stigmata was alarmed by the news he received. lightning crackled from that cloud. an umbrage rattled up from the smoky wolf's chest and he barked out as the wolves of bearclaw began to retreat in shame from their prison walls. "this is a mistake," he snarled, passionate in his anger. "a travesty! unfit for this pack." 

he looked over the shoulders, over the milling few, and he targeted laurel with his accusations— since it was most clear the females ran this ragtag bunch, accompanied by the fact that indra seemed inexplicably (to him) subservient to her sister— as she was the only one who could stop this madness.

"we are few, yes, but to resort to this? joining the competition? forgoing our chances to breed? each of us are more than capable of feeding ourselves, as well as each other— there is absolutely no need for us to seek charity. we are enough," he asserted with a prideful lift of his chin. he suddenly thought of laurel as too dependent on the servitude of her packmates; if she wasn't, then numbers wouldn't have mattered so much.

she wasn't willing to struggle, even a little, to forge and keep a kingdom of her own. stigmata prickled, taking her retreat as the sign of a weakness he was meant to exploit.