Bearclaw Valley as you promised me that I was more than all the miles combined

the birth of his newborns had frenzied ancelin into a werewolf's battle between reason and instinct, and as of late, the latter won out.
therefore, a trespasser in his valley, no matter how young the boy seemed to be, no matter that the same instinct signalled same to his singeing blood, the rage came first.
aching teeth pled for a target to rend; age-old furor burst ancelin from the foliage in a tangle of sap and mud and twigs, the bearclaw sodden and twisted into the fur of his chest.
his roar was terrible, and his teeth reached to maim.