Bearclaw Valley they are the force between

even with the two of them, the wolverine was no easy target. astara swayed with every buck and wrench the wolverine gave, wincing as he twisted in on himself and delivered a ruthless series of chattering rebukes along her snout. it stung and it hurt, and it made astara dig deeper into the kill or die instinct which now thudded heavily through her brain and blood.

her son was rebuked too, by the force of a wild kick. astara took that opportunity to shake as hard as she could, feeling claws scrabble down her chin and teeth punctuate her nose and gums. she dragged the thing along the dirt, upending pine and soft loam in the process -- meanwhile a smear of blood followed -- whether it was her own or the tenacious wolverine's she did not know.

by now the creature was desperate as it struggled, but for drawing her son's blood astara was intent on seeing it suffer.