Bearclaw Valley A life of pain is the pain of life, and you can never escape it

Since the challenge, and only after recovering his strength enough that he was not an easy target, Aventus spent a great deal of time pacing around the yawning mouth of the valley. He sat atop a flat rock near the entrance, as some feral wolf-dog long before the birth of his father had done before him, and surveyed the meadow beyond from his vantage point. He splashed urine upon the earth in great swathes, reminding everyone that he was Ursus. He was Bruin-jaw. He was leader.

As for Merrick and Astara, Aventus went out of his way to not spend long periods of time with them. He could practically taste their disappointment, and thought it was wildly unfair of them, considering the alternative was him ceding his place in the pack to his sibling who hated and disrespected him. What choice did he have? He hated her, now, too. He hoped she never returned, and if she did, he hoped she pissed all over her own belly for his forgiveness.

That was the least Avicus owed to him for attempting to humiliate him in front of everyone the way she had. He stalked up the hill toward the meadow with his scabs pulling and itching, scarred muzzle wrinkling with an errant violent thought, then shook his head as though warding off a fly. She was gone. No longer a concern of his, at least not today.