Bearclaw Valley That I'm not the carefullest of girls

Cole glared down at the woman pinned beneath Ameline’s grip, his fury simmering beneath a tight jaw. His blood still ran hot from the scuffle, and the sting in his neck where her teeth had grazed him burned like a brand. Rala’s pleas grated on his patience, but he allowed her words to pass without interruption, his ears twitching at Ameline’s sharp commands.

Fine, he growled, his voice low and seething as his amber eyes bore into the one good eye of the collared woman. Three punishments. She'll answer for what she's done.

He spat blood into the snow, the crimson stark against the frost, then raised his gaze to meet Rala’s. His tone remained steady but venomous. She loses her other eye. His words were cold, brutal, and without hesitation. She won’t be attackin' anyone blind.

He shifted his weight, considering the woman who had dared to strike him. Or, a fractured paw. Won't be mucha' threat that way.

Finally, he gave a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to Ameline and then back to Rala. Third—we take her hind claw, a warning to anyone else who thinks about testing Bearclaw’s borders.

He straightened, his massive frame looming over the group, tension rippling through his muscles. Your call, Rala. She doesn't walk away without consequences. His voice held no warmth, his glare fixed on the one-eyed woman, daring her to defy them further.