Bitterroot Valley the law of tooth and claw

The cubs were growing fast, having been swift to find both their feet and their teeth. Four sets of tiny, needling fangs on his hide in what he assumed to be communication of hunger was what drove him out of the whelping burrow that day. Artyom, wishing for only the best meal to feed his offspring, passed by a cache in preference of something fresher.

At nearly a month old, they were restless. There had been escape attempts, of course, but despite exhaustion both parents maintained a careful watch over them. As he roamed toward Whitebark outskirts in search of prey, he figured it might be a good opportunity to discuss their pups' first real steps into the world beyond the den upon his return.

Artyom was delighted to cross paths with Chai, who he greeted with warmth and enthusiasm as he shortened distance between them with a cheerfully wagging tail. With the gilded leader she shared an itch to hunt and, as the duo made their way after an unmistakable, strengthening aroma of elk, his gaze found the figures of two strangers. He quickened his stride to close ranks with Chai, moved closer to her and emitted a soft rumble to alert the other pair to their presence before he eyed them curiously. A slight narrowing of an earthen stare communicated his uncertainty: friend or foe?