i'm not gonna listen to what the past says

(312) Anatole is gonna run off after the fight, so assuming he saw and briefly told Claudius what happened before-hand.

The dark wolf stalked through the packlands with fury in his blood. How dare that pathetic mongrel attack him? He had done nothing but seen the truth of the matter for what it was and now his face was dotted with thin tooth marks caused in the moment before the older man had ripped them apart. Anatole had not been the aggressor and kept it that way; he had skulked the fighting ring until the other three had left and his cousin appeared and then gone off to wash his face in the snow. He did not think the small and shallow wounds would scar but did not care either way. All he could think about was the battle stolen from him, and the fact that he was right.

So now he went to find the only other witness, intent on seeing whatever tribal justice dealt fair. As was typical, Anatole traveled in his four legged form and moved with the fast-paced and snow-ready pace of his mother. It was typical of the breed and made for an excellent winter-advantage. He was nearly jogging, so enraged was his body. A myriad of emotions bubbled through him, beginning with the still lingering sex-drive from his night with the woman and culminating with the confrontation of the coyote. Two fights in two days, and he now wondered if coming back had been the right choice at all. Green eyes blazed as he cut through the village and towards the home he had spent a singular night in.

“Claudius,” he called, scenting him inside. The dark wolf lingered out of the doorway, his body still but his tail and ears twitching with the pent-up energy of a caged animal. Someone needed to sort this out and Anatole was not the one; he was too feral, too savage to deal with anything on a political scale.

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