Bearclaw Valley Your fingertips could torture

Cold, clear air nipped at Aventus' ear tips and nose as he prowled across the valley, reminding him that this hour was not for wolves. He ignored it, working his muscles to ward off the shivering that rattled his bones. Restlessness kept him from being able to settle down in the snow and find the peace of sleep, and so he marched, mulling over how he might get Evien alone and defenseless.

The lofty beanpole of a wolf's silhouette at the borders could be only one. Aventus paused a moment, a lingering black spectre against a drift of snow, then headed for Skoll. He drew alongside the taller guardian silently and stalked at his side for a distance without saying anything, then abruptly turned his muzzle to attempt to gather scents from the sentry's coat.

If you were told to kill someone, he softly said, how would you begin?