Bearclaw Valley don’t go over the edge

His wag picked up speed at the sight of Astara brightening. He wasn't as close to her as father nor as privy to whatever was going on with her, but he worried all the same. Secretly, Aventus blamed himself. While he knew Avicus' challenge was not his fault, her exile from the pack was — there was no alternate outcome where both of them remained — and it seemed as though Astara's sickness coincided with her departure.

The thought of it weighed heavy as a stone in his belly, but he put it aside when she snuffled at his hide and accepted the killdeer. A sheepish light danced in his eyes with a glance at it. He wished he could have presented a whole carcass rather than the smashed and smeared thing he'd reduced it to, but he didn't regret the dark game he'd played with the soft ivory girl to get it in that state.

Aventus almost forgot about the pups, but then Astara dangled a wing and a small, dark hellion erupted out of the shadows to snatch it and retreat. He snatched his ears back against his nape at the sheer ferocity of the child — being born to killers, Aventus did not often balk at violence, but its face on such a tiny creature was deeply unsettling even to him. The sway of his tail faltered and his soft whine was a question as he peered back at Astara with drooping brows.

Even Avicus was not so violent at such a young age.