Bearclaw Valley some kind of nature, some kind of soul

They were both on the ground, snapping and clawing, bloodied. Venamis stopped only when his mentor moved in to intervene. His frame was shoved aside and, scrambling to shaken limbs, the rugged youth tucked his tail and stumbled away.

He painted with exhaustion, with the unbearable pain at the side of his head where blood continued to spill. It spilled onto the snow beneath him in hot red droplets when he shook his crown, and he did not bother to acknowledge the broken body of the young wolf he'd assaulted. Ven simply stumbled away to nurse his wounds in private, leaving the captive to Merrick and his silent blackbird.