Swiftcurrent Creek but anything is preferable to the pain

If Aventus ever had to reflect upon his sire, he would never call the patriarch of Ursus paternal. His childhood was rife with reverent fear of the man and even now, he was puzzled rather than compelled by the relative ease with which the Bruin-witch fell to the side. He drew back, nostrils flaring as he wrestled for calm, and curled his tail deferentially against one hind leg.

The grit of his teeth was audible, and he pulled back a forepaw, dragging chipped nails through the loam. Merrick was right. A larger beast would seize Aventus when his temper became his folly, and he could only think of Nyra then. That was exactly how that had happened.

Show me how to defeat them, he requested, silver eyes touching Merrick's golden one earnestly for half a second before he averted them to the side again. Respect, always, for his sire.