Bearclaw Valley peccato meo munda me

It was not so unusual for Aventus to have eyes on his packmates without their knowledge.

He was a master of stealth, having watched his mother and practiced since he was very young. Even in his current haggard state, the man could slip fluidly into the shadows and pass unheard. It was harder to hide his scent these days, but any wolf worth their salt knew to stand downwind.

He hadn't been listening so long. He meant only to pass by, but the raised voices drew his attention toward Bernadette and Cyril. Aventus watched with a flat silver gaze from some hidden hollow, debating whether to make it his issue or not. He was almost settled on not, only Bernadette decided then to call Cyril irrelevant.

Since Merrick's death, reminders of the bear spirit made him feel sick to his stomach. Chief among those was the fat, grotesque little bear cub dog thing that was Bernadette. It did not help her case that she had contributed nothing to his knowledge to Ursus. She had not helped on the Rivenwood raid and she had done nothing when he commanded the deaths of Indra and Abel, at least as much as he could remember of that day.

She was, in his opinion, utterly useless. His tolerance for her came to an immediate end to hear her speaking to Cyril in that fashion as if she was some authority in Ursus.

He emerged in a flurry of foliage, lunging for the ugly little dog with his tail arced high over his hips and his face contorted in a severe snarl. He would stop a mere two inches from her, glaring into her beady eyes, demanding immediate submission, lest she learn just how a wolf treated a burden.