Bearclaw Valley hunters

So they were orders. Cole hummed in a brief approval, not knowing of Bearclaw's hidden nature that aligned with his own brutality. He helped Tvar with the last heads, ripping muscle from tissue, spine cracking bone. It wasn't a sightly scene, but one nonetheless.
Atop another spike he lodged the other two heads. A symbol for Bearclaw's lands. Safety on the inside would be achievable, but on the outside? Cole was a loaded shotgun, barrel hot and ripe. He was tired of this. Tired of all this fucking blood, injury. Too many women under their protection, and yet...
He tsked. Haven't seen Dolce pull his fuckin' weight.