"Wrong," Sven's voice hissed through the air, as his silver frame blurred onto the scene with a predatory speed.
Of course Morganna's children would hold such entitled opinions of themselves. Clearly she hadn't informed them of the bridges she'd burned. He would be damned if the next generation strove to mimic her errors.
His eyes flashed briefly to Sterling before honing on the one who had dared to toy with their boundary. He'd already gotten a taste of the child's attitude, and it seemed now he'd be subjected to more. Yes, just like their mother; the more unwelcome their troublesome paws were, the more they wanted to trample everything with them. Had they been any degree of considerate, he would've been glad to favor their blood and offer them hospitality. As it was, they were only proving to him that they were unworthy of the Ridge.
They were brats, and they needed to be put in their place. Sven had no problem teaching them the lessons their mother had failed to. His teeth went for Bojay's scruff while his bread chest aimed to ram into the youth's own. If his goal was met, he would promptly through the boy to the ground and stand over him, teeth bared and tail raised in warning. No blood would be drawn or bones broke, however; this was discipline, not violence.