Redtail Rise Empty the pockets of the innocent victim

Ashlar didn't run directly into the warning snaps, but he didn't let them deter him either. His own jaw was set stubbornly, though his ears and tail were both down, his nerves on high alert.

The blood in the air only made it worse. He couldn't look at what Avicus was doing. It didn't matter if the man was already dead... there was something wrong in it, the same callous disregard of the coyote impaled upon a spire. Remembering it made Ashlar's stomach turn, and he focused harder, complete attention on cleaning the man's shoulder wounds.

All the while he was tensed and ready to take a snap from the impatient warrior. The moment never came. As gently, but also as thoroughly, as he could, Ashlar ensured that there was no dirt or grime collected within the freshly torn area. He didn't have anything here, but later he'd bring the man something to apply to it. It might come down to another argument, but Ashlar knew he needed to learn to enforce his role here. Even if only in the ways he was able - perseverance and quiet insistence.

When he was done, he still couldn't look. He would avoid this place, if only to avoid the image of another wolf's insides strewn like cast-off leaves on the snow.