Bearclaw Valley they are the force between

Aventus had learned a valuable lesson today: wolverines were no joke one-on-one, but a wolf’s power came not from its singular brawn, but the aid of its pack. A wolverine might be more than capable of taking down a single wolf, but two? Even though he was a four month old menace at best, not yet an oiled cog in wolfkind’s machine, with Astara by his side, the wolverine didn’t stand much of a chance.

Its sharp claws spilled Astara’s blood, a smell that punched Aventus in the nose and coaxed forth something akin to bloodthirst. Not for his dam’s blood, but the beast’s. How dare it harm his mother! She was made to kill, though, and managed to seize the wolverine in a hold that would prevent it swinging back to him.

His small teeth flashed as he drove them into the wolverine’s side. His jaws ached with the force he injected into that bite. The wolverine snarled in chattering bursts, struggling to free itself from Astara. Aventus withdrew, satisfied with the blood splashed over his muzzle, and dove in for another rending bite.

Upon seizing flesh this time, he gave his head a savage shake and came away with a chunk of fur and flesh, but earned a harsh kick to his muzzle from a flailing hind limb. Those claws weren’t as effective as the front, but it was enough to scratch his sensitive flesh. Recoiling, Aventus lashed his tongue out to taste the blood that welled on the side of his muzzle.