Violet CLAW
It was a small, silver-oak lion.
But it wasn't the resting, peaceful lion from the blueprint Arnold had given me. My lion was arched, its claws unsheathed, every muscle corded as it prepared to lunge. It was a creature of war, not a parlor decoration.
"You changed the design?" Arnold asked, leaning in close.
"I found the resting lion too passive, Master," I explained, my eyes tracking the senior wolves in the room. "I prefer the moment of the strike. To survive in this world, one must be resourceful and brave enough to crush the opposition."
Bab Populer