Hushed Willows [m] Mental Wounds

boone had never been a violent man.
he was afraid to be seen as such, even. he knew how daunting he was upon first glance, the way his teeth glinted in sunlight. he fought this notion with every ounce of his being.
but leadership made him something else. in it, it brought out a primal desire to protect, and perhaps it had always been there — it was only now being dusted off and cast into the forefront of his actions, his whims. when the shriek of pure, unadulterated terror found him, there was one objective that now overwhelmed his synapses: kill the beast. protect the pack. kill the beast.
he came hurtling through the trees in a tumble of ashen fur and tight muscle. he had seen this before, this disgusting display of predation; he saw it happen to his wife. and the absolute last thing he was going to do was let it happen again to a woman under his watchful eye. unthinkingly, brain on fire, he ferociously dives straight for the pale-throated man who stood now over the redflame body of reina.
boone sought to display his head upon an altar as a warning to those who dared to fuck with him.