Bearclaw Valley iron defenses

Violence was an outlet that was not often a resort- it would have been too easy for her to succumb to the instinct to be feral and vicious, to keep words restrained and act with muscle, tooth and claw. But as a productive past-time and a team-building exercise? No harm done in shedding a little blood, especially if it meant keeping the pack's children safe in the future. 

The verdict would be signed and stamped, and the coyote hunt began. She slowed her pace, and moved to Tvar's side, yielding the lead to him- feeding it to him, so he might find his own quest for release fulfilled. He moved forward and she fell in line behind him, squinting to avoid taking a branch to the eye. She moved step by step, in his tracks, synchronizing her gait with his so that if noticed, there might be the illusion of only one wolf prowling in the area. 

She heard the scrabbling of paws. She moved closer to Tvar's side, tucking low to the ground so she might peer out beneath the shrub's lowest branches, to see the feet and legs of two coyotes- as well as their pale muzzles when they lowered their heads to scent. 

A courting pair, perhaps. Just as well, then, that at least one of them should be killed- less chance there might be coyote pups in the spring. 

She did not consider that they were canines, or that they had language and beliefs, that they had love, and hopes. She set all of that aside, and glanced to her companion. 

Heads on spikes. That's all they would be.