Dragoncrest Cliffs clean-up on aisle what the fuck

set pretty soon after the war, not more than a couple of days

He'd gotten his wounds tended to as much as they could be, this fresh. He was sore all over and covered in blood--and he felt fucking fantastic. Seriously, top of the world. Adrenaline rush. There was nothing quite like a good fight, especially against wolves that you didn't at all care for.

Verx was looking for some of the younger wolves, though, who might feel a little differently if it was their first go. He remembered his first, vividly. Nauseous the whole time. He might have even puked; he couldn't remember a battle that far back. Blood and guts and death. . .that shit was horrifying if you'd never seen it before. A nightmare scenario.

So he hoped they were okay. They would be with time, and coaching. But for now--

What the fuck? Vercingetorix exclaimed softly, stopping dead in his tracks and staring at the dead son of a bitch laid out in front of him in a pool of dried blood.

If it had been warmer, the carcass would have been swarming with flies and stinking to high heaven. The cold, fortunately, kept most decay at bay, but he was still a gruesome sight. Throat torn open, glazed eyes gazing at things the living didn't see. Whoever took care of him did it right. Verx was impressed.

Impressed, and confused. He called out for any involved parties, looking 'round the redwoods.