She didn't miss a beat in letting him know that the kits were going to be handled - exterminated, in all actuality - as soon as Angier dismissed her. A pleased smirk spread across his face, "Good. Bring one back fer th'cubs ta play with while yer at it; make it a plaything fer target practice er whate'er." While he figured his growing sons were maturing fast, he knew (from his first-hand experience in raising Asriel, Sköll, and Morganna) that having something of another predator, a pest every wolf ought to be wary of, was a good way to encourage them to hone their tracking skills and familiarize themselves with something other than the familiar settings of their usual surroundings (the scent of the den, the collective aroma of their pack and family, the fragrance of the willows, and so forth).

"Happy hunting, Guardian Archer," he stated, a small dip of his muzzle discharging her from his presence. He waited for her to leave before glancing down at the fox and the vixen that she had left behind. The male he would bring to the Infirmary once he had separated the still warm innards from the skeleton and pelt; its mate, on the other hand, he would leave in its place, for the crows to pick clean and as an unmissable warning to the other red-pelted vermin that their kind was not welcome here. He would return for her pelt at a later date, but for now, he tilted his muzzle skyward, closing his eyes in a declaring howl that the wolves of Willow Ridge had finally found a worthy replacement for the beloved Guardian that they had lost, and her name was Sorya Archer.