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The dogs pick up on the shift before even Viðarr does. It's as if some sixth sense takes them over-- they're bear dogs after all. They're bred for this. Still, between their reaction and Tove's, the shadow picks up on it too. His gaze slides to the brush, to the trees. Bear. Grizzly bear, large and brown, all paws and claws and teeth. It was in for a reckoning, having chosen the wrong target. The wrong wolves to attempt to scavenge, or steal from. The shadow is hulking, turning on deft paws, fixing it with a burning gaze.

Both dogs move in time as well. As Viðarr steps up to put himself between Tove and the grizzly, each surges forward in time. Gnashing teeth and claws dug into the ground, Viðarr lunges towards the bear next. Three sets of teeth, three sets of claws. How dare such a creature threaten his family? There's a protective nature that kicks in before Viðarr knows what's happening. It's less about the prey and more about Tove. Relentless, reckless, the shadow has already made up his mind. As the dogs imbalance the bear and pull it from its hind legs onto all fours, Viðarr goes straight for the throat. Something has snapped, in the moment. This isn't about repelling the predator, no. This is about neutralizing the threat in the basest sense of the word.

Going down would be an understatement.
"Viðarr"