The Heartwood I'm so used to sharing

Though slatted eyes, and cloudy mind. Dreven heard a noise from the innards of the den. Knowing that no one was in there cept for the witch, ghost talker. He stayed put, and kept a lazy doze. His pelt smelled like Atka, but he always sent her away from the witches den, when he was guarding.

Dreven lifted his head, immediately scarred ears, tattered and broken shifting. Scarred muzzle lifted up to sniff. The scar along his eye now prominently, scabbed. It was getting better, but it had been deep.

He got to large paws and stepped into position to walk with her, not against her. He was not certain what to say or do, but he would not lie and say there wasn't a small ember of defiance in his chest for both the ghost talker and their leader. he had been alone in guarding the borders and chasing away intruders. He alone had kept the markers alive and scented. Then Atka had come and she had relieved some of his burden, but not enough. Never enough.

There was a small tinge of irritation in there too.