Silvertip Mountain BLACK FEATHERS

Aventus stood a silent shadow to his father's furious flame, his gaze fixed on his mother's remains as firmly as his sister's. At least until Merrick invited them to take the name of Ursus and flee elsewhere. Perhaps Merrick was okay with that, but Aventus was not. If it was up to him, this fight would be mandated. No more could they run like frightened little sheep from the Saints.

Not that they ever had, but backing down was not even an option to him.

Automatically, his eyes went to Ashlar. Aventus had never thought much of the other wolf, and he would be surprised if the bard agreed to come at all. Aventus was sure he would take this opportunity to flee. The Bruin-jaw's silver eyes glinted like bared steel. Run away, little bard, he thought, keeping careful control over his expression lest he lift his lip and snarl. His fixed gaze was a promise as much as it was a question. Run away, but take the name of Ursus with you, and I will take it back from you by force when this is all over. He had no doubt that every other member of Ursus would choose to fight. For him, there was no question. He meant not only to fight, but to win and get his revenge twice over by bringing Nyra's head home as a trophy.

He only tore his stare away from the chocolate-furred bard when Merrick concluded the meeting and stooped over Astara's body. Aventus would remain nearby, as well. He was not willing to invite misdirected violence from his father by getting too close, but he hunched in the near shadows to keep watch over his mother's remains from a short distance, and to ward off any who thought to approach their king right now.