Bearclaw Valley iron defenses

his gaze flicked briefly to the jagged stakes he'd been driving into the ground, then back to the regina. he didn't care for the promise of rank; duty was duty, and he'd do it, but ambition did not drive the man like it once had. no, that didn’t matter. all he knew was that she was asking him to deliver something—something the valley needed—and he’d see it done.

three heads, his voice is gruff, tense, threaded with the serious tone he had taken up as of late. a man stressed, a man scorned—he'd had it up to his neck with these coyotes, and add the pressures of amounting fatherhood on top of that?

i’ll get it done.

any excuse to bring more carnage to the persistent threat to everything he held dear—towhee, their unborn pups, the pack. he wasn't done here, but he could return easily enough. ameline had thrown gasoline onto the raging fire in his gut; he turns rather quickly, shoulders tense with prospective violence and he dips his head to the regina. you up for some hunting, my liege?

a playful attempt at joking with her, and hopefully something to lighten his mood.